Hot Blooded Hostage
by XFauxAfflictionX
Summary: When John Allerdyce turned fourteen, disaster struck his not-so-average teenage life. He obliterated everything he knew, and was thrown into a whole new life. This story covers Pyro's past, and the events of X2.
1. Chapter 1

*Author's note: This story is based on the Pyro of the X-Men movies, notthe comics. As some of you know, those are two completely different characters. Another fact to note is that I will be writing X3 from his point of view and also after that movie. But that would be an INCREDIBLY long story, so those are gunna be different stories. Enjoy!

**Part 1**

**Chapter 1**

Professor Charles Xavier sat at his large oak desk, attention turned to the five o'clock news, which played on the mounted television on the wall. Nerves competed with each other on whichever could make him more uncomfortable; fear or a sinking sense of excitement. The presence of the two women standing behind him, eyes turned to the screen, went almost unnoticed. The electronic sound of a female anchor filled the room, and it continued to be the only noise disturbing the silence for quite some time.

A cool breeze blew in from the window at their backs, carrying with it the scent of post-rain pine. The downpour had plagued the temperature by about ten degrees, but not enough for the Professor to close the window. He loved fresh air; it was calming and peaceful. This was especially important given the current state of negativity and worry. The large rectangular room seemed oddly empty, with the minimal company and low disruption by students.

"And on to our top story tonight, the home of a family of four in Sarasota, Florida was completely destroyed by an unusual fire. For that story, we'll go to Tim Murdoch, who is reporting from the scene of the blaze, Tim?" the anchor passed the details to a new man as screen changed to another view.

A brunette, middle-aged man stood holding a mic that read Channel 11 News 5 in front of what looked like a smoldering birthday cake. The mass behind him retained absolutely no color; it was pure black ash, and hoses from many scarlet fire trucks were continually spraying it down as billowing clouds of black smoke rose into the sky.

"Thanks, Katherine," the man said, squinting into the camera. "The cause of this fire is still unknown, but local law enforcement have stated that they are looking into an alleged arson, but no suspects have been apprehended. The fire is said to have begun in the early hours of the morning, around 2 or 3am. Now, it was raining heavily at that time, but firefighters have said that with the intensity of the blaze, the rain was of little help. The owners of the home," he paused to look at a sheet of paper he was holding, "Peter and Jaselene Allerdyce were killed in the inferno, but their thirteen-year-old son and two-month-old daughter remain unaccounted for. Police have asked that if you have any information on the missing children, you are urged to contact your local law enforcement. No names are being released as of yet, but photos are being hunted down to be released to the general public."

"Have you heard word if the children were in the house at the time of the fire, Tim?" the anchor, Katherine Heiledge, asked from her minimized screen in the corner of the television.

"Well, neighbors claim they saw the boy return from school yesterday afternoon, but no other information is known," he finished, waiting for more questions.

"And Tim, what was so unusual about this fire?" Katherine posed.

"I had the chance to speak with a member of the fire rescue team that responded to this particular call, here's what he had to say," Tim said, and the screen switched to another man, this one was in customary firefighter attire, his face a little blackened.

"Well, this particular fire, as far as we know, had no initial burn point. It's as if the entire house caught fire at once, which is strange, because in a natural progression of a fire, the place of origin will be more charred and burned than where it spread to," the screen then switched back to Tim Murdoch.

"Well, it seems like we've got ourselves a mystery, Katherine," he said. "Like I said, photos of the children will be released soon, and if anyone has any information on them, please call your local police department. Tim Murdoch, reporting for Channel Eleven News, at Five."

"Alright, thanks Tim," Katherine said, as her image reappeared on the screen. "And on to sports, where we had a very exciting day in hockey…"

Her voice was then cut off by the Professor retrieving the remote from his desktop and muting the news.

"Well, I think we might have a situation on our hands," he said, rubbing his temples.

"How so?" Ororo Monroe asked from behind him.

He clutched the steering mechanism of his wheelchair and turned it to face the two women.

Ororo's long, pure white hair was lightly highlighted by the sunlight creeping in through the window, which made her look almost angelic. She was in simple black pants and a white dress shirt, and her dark skin accented her very professional look. The other woman, Jean Grey, stood almost a head taller than Ororo, but her sweet nature offset her towering height. Her ruby red hair cascaded over one shoulder, as it was pulled into a loose side ponytail. She stood leaning her weight on one leg, innocently awaiting the Professor's reply.

"Well, if the boy has the little girl with him, that makes the situation quite delicate. He's going to be very traumatized by what happened, and he's probably going to try to take care of the girl by himself, and this could very well cloud his judgment. And that could be a danger for himself and others," he said, sounding reserved and professional.

"What should we do?" Jean asked, furrowing her brow.

"I'm going to try to track him using Cerebro. Finding him quickly could be of the utmost importance. Pending his location, you two prepare the X-Jet and pack tropical. You're going to Florida," he said with a smile, and guided his wheelchair around them.

***

"Oh, God I hate long flights," Jean said, stretching her arms out and basking in the hot Florida sunlight.

"Actually my name's Ororo, but you can call me that if you like," Ororo joked, checking the exterior of the airplane.

"Oh, hardy harr. Real funny," Jean said, smiling at the dark skinned woman.

The Professor had sent them the coordinates of the boy's location, and luckily they were able to land several minutes away.

Ororo smiled, and pressed a button on a small remote in her hand, and the ramp into the aircraft began ascending. The forest in which they had set down was not as far from civilization as they had hoped, but there really weren't many other options in the Sarasota area. So, Ororo immediately programmed it to go into stealth mode. For containing such a large aircraft, the small opening appeared very empty.

"Jean?" came Professor Xavier's voice from the communicator on her hip.

She pulled it off of her belt and brought it to her lips.

"Yes, Professor?" she said, as the two of them began walking away from the jet.

"I've found the boy about five miles from the house, I'll send you the exact coordinates. But I'd still watch out for the authorities. They can be sneaky little buggers if they want to be," he said, and the smile in his voice could almost be pictured.

"Alright. I hope he cooperates. Do you think he's even aware of his ability? He could just think their house burned down out of circumstance," Jean said, intrigued by the task in front of them.

"Well I heard his thoughts when I located him, and I think he's somewhat aware. He's confused, scared, and mentally delicate. Make sure he knows we're friends. I'm not sure of the extent of his ability, but it could prove dangerous, so be careful. You too Ororo," the professor said.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about me, Professor," she said, smirking.

"You'd be surprised," was his response, and it was cut off by the click that always came at the end of a transmission.

Their walk didn't take long before they found a rural, two-lane road to follow.

"I like New York better," Jean began, struggling with her GPS. "It's… smaller."

Ororo laughed at her as she peered into the clear blue sky

"Now, the professor said the boy hadn't gone far from the home, so I'll try to lock in on his thoughts. That could help us find him easier," Jean said, scrolling through pages on the GPS device.  
They walked in silence for the next twenty minutes, both aware that the other was thinking about the task ahead of them. Usually, when they found new kids, they were confused, scared, and cautious. But rarely were they dangerous. So, when they came across one that could potentially be a threat to themselves or others, they worried a little. Plus, there was always pressure with powers as monumentally dangerous as his. If they didn't get him somewhere he would learn to control it, countless people could be injured or killed. But of course, they were both very aware of this, hence the silence.

The silence only continued for a few moments, until Jean put a hand gently onto Ororo's arm.

"You hear him?" Ororo said as she pulled onto the shoulder.

"Maybe," Jean replied, stepping toward the shoulder of the road. Storm followed suit.

The warm, dense Florida air made it somewhat harder to breathe, and the lack of breeze wasn't helping. The rainstorm the previous night had left its scent dwelling in the air, and water ran in gulches parallel to the street. The two of them descended the hill on the side of the road, until Jean tapped Storm's shoulder, and pointed down the slight slope. Storm nodded, and both of them kept quietly descending the hill. Once at the bottom, Storm didn't need to ask Jean where he was; she could hear him.

The echoing of faint sobs could be heard coming from the culvert that led under the road above. Jean motioned to Ororo that she would approach him first, and Ororo nodded in reply.

Jean leaned over to peek into the waist-high culvert, and sure enough, there sat the boy, wet, and shivering. But he wasn't sobbing; it was more like struggling for air and convulsing in fear. He was clutching a blanketed bundle in his right arm, holding it close to his body. His clothes were tattered and burned, as was the bundle. He couldn't have been older than fourteen, and the sight made Jean want to cry.

The minute he saw Jean, he composed himself, and moved as if he were going to back into the culvert, away from her. But, the instant he put weight on his other arm, it collapsed, and he yelped in pain.

"It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you," Jean said, not making any movements so as not to frighten him more. "My name is Jean Grey, this is Ororo Munroe. We're friends. We're here to help you."

He didn't reply, only stared at her, clutching the bundle closer to his chest.

"What's your name?" Ororo asked, kneeling next to Jean. Her deep, calm voice seemed to help a little, because the boy didn't keep backing away.

"John," was his meek, shaky reply.

"Ok. John, why don't you come out of there and let us help you," Jean said, and held out her hand to him.

He jumped back from her hand and barked, "Why should I?"

Somewhat surprised by his sudden outburst, she kept her hand outstretched and took on a softer expression.

"Because," she began, "We're just like you."

"You have no idea what _I'm_ like," he snapped, crawling farther into the culvert, favoring his left arm, still cradling the bundle.

She smiled. She had known this might be difficult.

"I know what you can _do_, John. I have abilities too. So does she," she motioned to Storm, "You're not alone," she finished, and this seemed to strike home.

He stared straight back at her, not really believing what he had heard.

"That's right, you heard correctly. You probably have a lot of questions, and we have the answers, ok? Now, why don't you come out of there and let's talk like civilized human beings," she said still holding out her hand.

"But I'm not, am I?" he said, voice getting shaky again. "Human?"

"Yes you are John, and don't let anyone tell you that you're not," she said.

"Humans don't do this to their baby sister," he said, bursting into tears again.

_Oh god, what did he do?_ Jean wondered, her face getting stern.

"Well," she said, trying to remain calm and in control, "sometimes we loose control. It happens to the best of us. Now please, why don't you hand her to me," she said, assuming the bundle was his sister, "and we'll get you out of there."

He hesitated for a moment, then peered down at the bundle in his arms, and started crying harder.

"I hurt her. I didn't mean to. It was an accident…" he started to fire out explanations as he slowly pulled her away from his body.

Jean's composure finally burst as she took the child from John and got a good look at her.

The smell of charred skin met her nostrils as she looked at the baby. The girl's face was badly burned, as was the rest of her body. She was unconscious and her chest was barely rising and falling.

"Oh god," Jean said, holding her hand to her mouth. "Storm, take her."

She passed the injured child to Ororo, and turned back to a sobbing John.

"It's ok, I know you didn't mean any harm. Everything's going to be alright, okay?" she said, holding out her hand again.

He was holding his left arm, not moving.

"Okay, give me your good arm," she said, leaning in toward him.

He sniffed, and composed himself somewhat as he reached for her with his right hand.

Pulling him out was somewhat awkward, since he was favoring his left arm, but it wasn't long before he stood before her, scared, wet, and shivering.

"It's gunna be ok," she said, rubbing him on the back. "Storm," she paused, "Ororo and I are highly trained in the medical field, ok? We're going to take good care of your sister."

He nodded, still holding his left arm.

"Now, let's get you back to our jet and take a look at your arm ok?"

"Jet?" he asked as she led him up the hill so they could follow the road back.

"Yes," Jean said, supporting him and studying his burned clothing. But his skin wasn't burned… strange. She decided not to explain further about the jet since he didn't ask further.

Again, the trek back didn't take long, and John was quite cooperative, following silently.

Once on board, Ororo went off on her own to inspect the baby girl, and Jean took John aside and sat him down in the rear of the plane.

"So, how much do you know… about what happened?" Jean asked comfortingly.

"Um," he said shakily, watching Storm handling his sister. "Well, I know it wasn't a coincidence that the fire followed my hand but didn't burn me."

"Ok," she said, reaching for his injured arm. "Where does it hurt?"

"Up here," he said, pointing to his upper arm.

She began gently feeling of it as she had been taught to do, but didn't get far. He winced and pulled away from her as she got closer to his shoulder.

"Sorry," she said, releasing him.

"I'm a mutant, aren't I?" he asked, looking her straight in the eyes.

"Yes, John. That's exactly what you are," she said gently. "And it is a tremendous gift, as myself and Ororo have found out."

"Doesn't seem like it," he mumbled, looking down.

"Right now it doesn't, but it will," she said, getting up and walking over to Ororo and the baby.

"How is she?" she asked, pitying the small burned bundle.

"Not well," Storm replied. "We need to get her back to the mansion _now. _How's he?"

"His arm's broken, possibly in two places, and he's a little shaken, but I think he's getting a grip on the situation," she said, looking over at him.

He was sitting hunched on the bench on the other side of the jet, head bowed. His auburn hair fell over his face, and his tattered clothing revealed blackened skin.

"What's her name?" Jean asked, walking to a closet and opening it.

John wearily looked up.

"Claire," he replied.

"Pretty," she said, pulling out some clothes from the closet and handing them to him. "Here you go."

"Thank you," he said, taking them. "Um, where are we going? It's not like It matters much, cuz I don't have a home anymore anyway, but… I'm just curious."

"Well, myself and Ororo are teachers at a school for the gifted. People like _us_," she said.

"Oh," he said, and looked back down at the clothing in his right hand.

"There's a bathroom just there," she said, pointing to it. "Are you going to need help?" she motioned to his arm.

"I think I'll manage," he replied, trying to conjure a smile, but failing.

As he turned to enter the bathroom, she turned back to Ororo.

"How bad?"

"She's pretty bad, these are at least third degree burns, and her breathing is very irregular. She needs help. Now," Storm said in a low voice, studying the child. "And I cant give her what she needs until we're back in the sterile facilities of the mansion."

"Ok, I'll contact the professor, you get ready for takeoff," Jean said, turning to grab for her communicator.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Hello, John. It's nice to finally meet you," Xavier said, guiding his wheelchair toward the newly showered and newly clothed boy.

"Hi," he replied sheepishly, shaking the professor's hand.

Xavier was an intimidating man, but not in a bad way. His well-kept suit and manicured features screamed "businessman," but his warm smile and congenial ways helped to soften the appearance. John made a mental note that he _might_ like this guy later on.

"I am Professor Charles Xavier. I built this facility for people just like you. Gifted, in every sense of the word, yet without shelter, food, etc. No need to be shy, please, have a seat," Xavier said, motioning to the chair across from his desk.

John gingerly sat down, making sure to avoid hitting his now slung arm on the armrest.

When they had arrived, Jean had led him to an elevator, which took them down into the metallic basement. Ororo had walked away with his sister, much to his disapproval, but he had no other choice. Jean had then examined his arm again, taken some x-rays, and informed him that it was broken in two places. Thankfully, she hadn't asked how it had happened, but he had a feeling that was the reason he was here now.

Jean, who had led him into the office, smiled at John, and left the room.

"Now, if you'll allow it, I would like you to stay. Here, you will be protected from whatever threat you fear, and you will learn to control this ability of yours. We welcome you with open arms, but I cannot force you to stay, so I suppose what I'm asking here is; will you accept?"

John was silent for a moment, considering.

"I guess," he answered shyly. "I mean, what is my other option, an orphanage?"

"Well, yes, but there, no one will understand your ability. What I am offering is not an orphanage by any means, John. Here, you will be surrounded by others just like you, who will understand and guide you through this. Of course, I don't expect an answer right away. Take your time, and whatever the decision, I will support you, alright?"

John nodded feebly, and stared down at the hardwood floor.

"And John, there is something else," Xavier said, struggling around the subject. "I am going to want to know what happened, simply for the sole purpose of helping you cope, alright? And I understand this may be difficult to talk about, so I will not pressure you. Whenever your ready, I'm here," he said gently.

John nodded again.

"Jean," the professor called, and she entered from just outside the door.

"Will you be so kind as to show him to a room. I'm sure he's exhausted. Mr. Drake's room, I think, will be best suited."

She nodded, and held out a hand to escort John away from the office.

His mind was racing. Everything was happening so fast. Just yesterday he was walking home from high school, a perfectly normalteenage boy. Now, his parents were gone (which as Xavier would soon find out, was not a huge loss to him), and Claire was horribly mutilated. Oh yeah… Claire…

"Um, Ms. Grey?" he asked quietly.

"Please, call me Jean," she said, smiling.

He nodded. "Um, I was wondering about Claire?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Well, why don't I take you to your room and then I'll go check with Ororo, okay?"

He nodded, and followed her up another elevator and down a short hallway.

She knocked gently on the door in front of her, and a faint 'come in' was heard.

She pushed it open to reveal a spacious, cozy looking room with a window on the far wall overlooking a huge courtyard of ponds and vegetation. Four beds occupied the room, two on each wall, each with it's own bedside table. A large closet stood ajar against the wall to his right, and much clothing billowed out, just screaming 'boy's room.'

One boy sat on the bed farthest from the door on the right. He couldn't have been but a few months older than John, and his short brown hair was groomed, his piercing ice-blue eyes tearing through him like hot knives. However, his kind face and welcoming smile dulled the piercing gaze a little.

"Bobby, this is John Allerdyce. John, Bobby Drake," Jean said.

The boy got up and cheerfully shook John's less-than-enthusiastic good hand.

"Well, why don't you two get acquainted, and I'll go check on Claire for you," Jean said, smiling. All this smiling was getting old.

She turned to leave, shutting the door behind her.

"Well," the other boy began, "this is our room I guess. That's the closet," he said, pointing to it (a 'no shit' running through John's head), "and since it's just the two of us, it's not too full yet. But, these rooms fill up quick, as you can imagine, so we'll be fighting for space eventually. And um, the bathroom is just down the hall, and you usually gotta get up pretty early if you don't wanna wait in line for it."

_What a chatter box,_ John thought to himself.

"So what can you do?" Bobby asked.

"Huh?" John asked. He was still getting used to things around here, and his brain hadn't caught up with him yet.

"Your ability. What is it?" Bobby said, looking like he understood John's confusion.

"Oh. Well, I guess I can control fire…"

"Gosh," Bobby began.

_Wow, this kid gets lamer by the minute. Who the hell says 'gosh' anymore?_

"That's really cool. I can see why the professor put you with me though. He always sticks kids with others who have contradictory powers, just so that if anything happens, the risk of getting hurt is minimal," Bobby said, turning to grab a cell phone from the pocket of some jeans on the floor. He flipped it open, analyzed what John figured was a text message, then threw the phone on the bed.

"Oh," John replied, now becoming curious. "So, uh…" he struggled to find wording that wasn't awkward, "what uh…"

"Can I do?" Bobby finished for him.

"Yeah," John said, growing tired of how peppy and upbeat this kid was.

Without saying anything, Bobby leaned over the nearest bed to his own nightstand and picked up a glass of water off of a coaster. He held it in front of himself, and put his hand over the top. A crackling sound filled the air, like crinkling paper, and then ice cubes began slowly falling from Bobby's hand, which had turned slightly blue and covered itself in ice crystals.

Abandoning his shyness and lack of enthusiasm toward his roommate, John stepped closer, eyes lighting up.

"Wow," was all he could manage.

"I know, cool huh?" Bobby said, seeming proud of himself. "The professor is helping me control it, and I'm starting to find new things I can do with it every day."

"Wow," John said again, backing off and regaining his composure. "You could, like, freeze someone to death."

Bobby seemed wholeheartedly taken aback by this statement.

"Well, yeah, I guess, but I don't know why I'd want to," he said, furrowing his brow.

John could have fired off a hundred reasons why you'd want to kill someone with that, but kept them to himself.

For the following half an hour, he sat on what was now his bed and listened intently as the voice box overloaded on caffeine explained that Jean would probably supply him with a cell phone soon, and take him out to shop for some clothes, since he obviously had none. And when John inquired about money, Bobby simply replied,

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. Apparently Xavier is sitting on some kind of small fortune. It's how he built this place."

"I see," John said. "Um, Jean called that Ororo lady 'Storm.' Why?"

"Oh, there's the fun part," Bobby began, and John subconsciously punched himself for giving the chatterbox something else to, well… chatter about.

"You see most of the people here have given themselves little code names that correspond with their power," he began. "Ororo is called Storm because she can manipulate the weather."

John's eyes got wide. He had known what mutants were before, but he hadn't known they were this monumentally cool.

"There's a guy who's always wearing sunglasses or a visor thing, his name is Scott Summers, and he goes by Cyclops. You probably haven't met him yet, but he can shoot, like, laser beams out of his eyes. But he can't stop them, so he has to wear these special glasses or the visor to stop it from killing everyone."

This was really starting to sound like some kind of alternate universe. John resisted the urge to pinch himself.

"How 'bout you? You got one?" John asked.

"Of course," Bobby said, raising his chin high in pride. "Iceman."

John actually stifled a laugh.

_Wow. This kid fell out of the tree of lame and hit every branch on the way down._

Bobby seemed disappointed about John's lack of excitement about his seemingly awesome code name.

"What about Jean. And the professor, what can he do?" John asked, his curiosity on the subject overriding his urge to make the lamoid shut up.

"Their powers are kind of similar. Actually they're really similar. Jean is telepathic and psychic. Which basically means she can move things with her mind, and the psychic thing is pretty self-explanatory. She can hear thoughts, and project her thoughts to others."

John nodded.

"And she doesn't have a code name?" John asked.

"I guess not. She's never really gone by anything but Jean," Bobby replied.

"And what about wheels?" John asked.

"'Scuse me?" Bobby replied.

"Wheels," John explained, motioning as if he were in a wheelchair.

"Yeah, real funny," Bobby said, absolutely unimpressed.

_I thought it was funny._

"He's an extremely powerful psychic. He could control your mind if he wanted to," Bobby said, again with the enthusiasm of a hyperactive fourteen-year-old.

_This just keeps getting cooler and cooler._

Just as Bobby opened his mouth to keep blabbering, someone knocked on the door. Bobby seemed disappointed about the interruption, but yelled 'come in.'

Jean entered, a look on her face that was absolutely unreadable. This was where reading people's minds would come in handy.

"John," she said, and again, her voice was blank. "The professor would like to see you one more time."

John furrowed his brow.

"Ok," he said, and got up to follow Jean back down to Professor Xavier's office, where he found Ororo standing beside the seated man.

Once inside, Jean shut the door behind her, and motioned for John to take a seat.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Jean stood behind John, and gently put a hand on his shoulder.

"Is Claire okay?" he asked, nerves building as he looked at Storm for his answer.

She pursed her lips, and tore her eyes away from his, as if doing so was difficult for her.

"Oh God," he said, heart starting to race. He stood from his chair clenching his good fist. "Please Ororo," his voice started to tremble, as did the rest of his body. "Please tell me she's okay. Please, please, please."

"I'm sorry John," she said, voice a little shaky and tears welling up in her eyes. "I did all I could."

"No!" he practically screamed, and tears began cascading from his eyes. His breathing became increasingly more difficult as he tried to grasp what he was hearing. His sight flashed white and he became lightheaded, his legs suddenly collapsing from under him. Jean reached forward and supported him as he sobbed even harder into her maroon dress shirt.

"Oh god," he cried, and slowly fell from Jean's grasp into a sobbing heap on the floor. She leaned down, her own weeping mingling with his, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Oh god, I killed her. I murdered my own sister," he whimpered, slamming his good fist onto the wooden floor.

"It was an accident, John," Jean said, attempting to compose herself. "These things happen."

Her words were meaningless static as his vision continued to flash white, and anger pumped through his veins like kerosene onto a blistering flame.

"John," Xavier's smooth voice said. "I understand how difficult this is. We're here to help you. This power you've been granted, it is a gift. But you must understand that it needs to be controlled. I can help you. Let me help you, John. We can control it together to avoid this happening to anyone else."

"No!" he screamed, and jumped to his feet, startling Jean. "I'm not going to control this for you, for society, for anyone else! I'm going to master this for Claire. To repent for what I did to her! And when I do, I will have such undeniable _power,_" he screamed, rage fueling his outburst, "I will be considered a _god!_"

With that, he shoved past Jean and out the door.

They had known he would react like this, but it was still difficult. His anger at himself and his power would eventually die down, but what they didn't know was that it would be replaced by a new kind of anger entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 2 **

**Chapter 3**

Over the span of the next four years, John changed in every way, shape, and form. His body changed and grew; his power and control over that power grew, as did his understanding of the basic nature of this power, and how dangerous it really was. He had become a man, in every aspect of the word. The school was his home, and the people in it were his family. He now had a room full of roommates, whose support never failed. And it didn't hurt that they shut Bobby up most of the time when he got into his chatterbox moods. But then again, Bobby wasn't the same kid he was four years ago either. He had matured, becoming just as much of a respectable man as John, possibly more. The other two were Peter Rasputin, and Ray Creed, who never failed as far as entertainment was concerned. They comforted him, taught him, and stopped him when his ego got the best of him.

Nicknames came and went; prankster, class clown, egotistical ass, narcissist, other labels of that nature tended to stick. The title of 'virgin' disappeared rather quickly, soon thereafter being followed by pimp, manwhore, and just plain slut. But he couldn't help it if he was undeniably beautiful, right? Right. But the one nickname that stuck like glue and described every aspect of his personality was his chosen one; Pyro. It was the perfect description of his spitfire attitude and snappy comebacks. His mind-set in general was just one big blistering flame.

The adults in his life had upheld their bargain; they were a constant in his life, and they were always supportive. Except Wheels. Sometimes the whole 'you must control it' got old, but otherwise, they were always there for him. Which, as they had discovered within the years, he had never experienced from his birth parents. He never told them the whole story, never told it to anyone. That, he stored away in a burnt black box deep in his soul to never be unlocked again. And he masked that box with an attitude; the attitude of an angry bee searching for someone to sting. This manner of acting evenly matched the white-hot flames that he manipulated. He had acquired the control of his power to the magnitude of which he had boasted of obtaining so many years ago. And he was quite proud of that control. And, as Xavier had come to say, he was too. That's why he provided John with a lighter, to carry with him at all times; sort of as a safety blanket. But, as Xavier soon found out, it became much more. It was his lifeline; he never let it out of his sight. It also became a nervous habit, the way he kept flicking it open, igniting a flame, admiring said flame, then flicking it shut again. It was just another glitch in the self-proclaimed awesome system of John.

Which leads us to where he is now; sitting in the backseat of Storm's jet-black Hummer, flicking the cap of his beloved Zippo. The scent of sunscreen filled the large vehicle as he stared forward, through the figures of Bobby Drake, Marie D'Ancanto, Kitty Pryde, Peter Rasputin, and Tracy Cassidy. In the driver's seat was an equally sunscreen-slathered Storm. Say that five times fast.

Summer hadn't come soon enough for these six kids, after Marie's abduction by Magneto. Her experience had left her scarred, in more ways than one. She had been a little quiet upon her return, but that was fading. And not to mention her Bobby-declared-amazing hair. John wasn't going to lie; it was actually kind of hot. But whatever. Her and Bobby had become close after Logan left; after all, she needed someone to talk to, and who better than the walking voice box? The prospect of their possible dating made John want to laugh out loud and puke all at the same time. But again, whatever.

"STOP THE CAR!" he suddenly yelled, adding his own personal exclamation point by flicking the lighter cap closed.

"What!? What's wrong!?" Storm yelped, immediately pulling the car onto the shoulder of the road.

John leaned forward, taking a breath for a moment, reveling in the stunned looks of everyone who had turned around to stare at him.

"I gotta pee," he said matter-of-factly, and smiled as everyone sighed in disappointment.

"Jesus, John, don't do that to me," Storm began, putting a hand over her heart. "I thought it was something important."

"Hey! Hey," he said, pointing at her. "This is important. You should consider it an honor just to watch me urinate. Now let me out before I soil my good swim trunks."

Bobby slapped him upside the head as he exited the car and ran away from the road to do his business.

Upon his return to the car, Storm attempted to give him the lecture on how you cant scare someone like that while they are driving, but it fell on deaf ears. Most of the rules, regulations, and just plain 'don't-do-it's were the same way. He was John. Give him one good reason he should listen to you. Yeah, didn't think so. A perfect example of the aforementioned attitude. And to help the situation more, he immediately returned his iPod headphones to his ears to drown her out.

However, he barely got more than a few seconds into a song when Kitty, who was in the seat next to him, ripped out one of his earphones and held it to her ear, declaring "watcha listnin' to?"

He smiled, just waiting for her reaction.

"Ew," she said, handing him back the headphone. "How do you listen to that? It's the devil's music."

He actually laughed out loud at that statement. He knew Kitty wasn't an extremely religious person, but she still liked to taunt him.

"Hellfire and brimstone, baby," he said, mocking her. "After all, I am the devil's child." He finished that statement by using the lighter to ignite a flame on his pointer finger and wave it at her.

"Whatever, John. It still sucks. Why do you enjoy listening to grown men scream at you anyway?" she asked, shoving his flaming finger away from her face.

"What, you don't find ROOOAAARRRRRRR sexy?" he asked, screaming the 'roar' with very enthusiastic gusto.

"For Christ's sakes John," Storm practically yelled from the driver seat, glaring at him in the rearview mirror. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Whatever rubs your Budda," he replied, leaning back in his seat and returning to his musical therapy.

Ororo shrugged his statement off as she pulled into the parking lot of Six Flags amusement park, and pulled up next to Jean and Scott's idling car.

"What took you so long?" Scott asked, not looking so out of place in his red sunglasses amongst the tourists.

"We had to take a potty break," Storm stated, sending John an agitated glance.

"Guy's gotta go when a guy's gotta go," he said, rolling his headphones around his iPod and storing it in a compartment in the back of the Hummer. Scott nodded, agreeing with John wholeheartedly.

"Alright," Storm said, turning back to face Jean and Scott's car out of her window. "Let me give them the talk, you guys go ahead and go in."

She turned to face them as Jean and Scott got out of their car and headed inside.

"Aw come on Storm," Bobby said. "Do you really think we still need 'the talk'?"

"Not really, but I'm going to anyway," she said, smiling. "Now, I know you guys aren't going to hang around me all day, so I just want you to remember a few things. Tracy, no Roller Coasters."

Tracy frowned.

"I know, but you know as well as I do that we don't want you screaming. Rogue, I'm sure I don't need to remind you to keep your distance from people."

Marie held up her arms, which she had covered with a pair of long, above-the-elbow gloves. And, much to Bobby and John's disappointment, she had the rest of her body well clothed as well.

"And if you go to the water park," she said, looking at Bobby, "please don't freeze the water."

"Storm, you know better. I would never even accidentally do that, you know I have good control."

"I know, I just felt like reiterating. And John," she began, looking at him. He gave her an innocent look as he flicked the cap of the Zippo. "Don't burn anything."

He just smiled at her, but never agreed.

As they made their way into the crowded attraction, people began to break off. Storm found Jean and Scott, and started to walk away from the kids.

"You remember what time to meet us here, right?" Storm said, turning around.

Everyone nodded. They watched the three adults walk away, and then turned to face each other.

"Well, I'm gunna take Tracy to the water park. That'll be the safest," Peter said.

Peter had taken to a kind of protective relationship with Tracy. She was a small girl, so naturally, King Kong watched over her. Not to mention she was a beautiful, rapidly developing teenager, if you know what I mean.

John scoffed. What's with all these kids worrying about safety? If something were going to happen, it would happen. And the only people's safety that would be in jeopardy would be… well, everyone else. And to be honest, who cares?

"What d'you think?" Bobby said, facing John, Rogue, and Kitty. "Where you wanna go first?"

"I really want to ride the Twister before the line gets long," Kitty said, bouncing on her heels.

"Okay, does that sound good to everyone else?" Bobby asked.

It was safe to say Bobby was the mediator, the peacemaker of sorts. He cared about everyone, and their opinions, and always made sure no one was getting jiffed in any deal. It made John sick. But, someone had to do it, and it certainly wasn't going to be him.

"Yeah," everyone mumbled, and they headed through the sunny park to the Twister.

As they approached the giant blue and orange coaster, John stopped.

"What?" Rogue said, turning around to face him.

"It's really… big," he said, flicking the cap of his lighter open, then closed.

"Well, yeah. That's the point isn't it?" Kitty said. "Come on."

He didn't budge.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked. "Have you never ridden a Roller Coaster before?"

Judging that this was their first visit to the amusement park, this was a reasonable question. But, as mentioned before, John's pre-mutant home life had been less than comforting, so no, he had never even been to an amusement park before today. But again, he had never shared that information with anyone.

"You haven't, have you?" Rogue asked, smiling. "Come on, it's not that bad."

"Are you implying that I'm afraid?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Now why would we think that the indestructible John would be afraid of a Roller Coaster?" Kitty said, her tone implying the complete opposite.

"Aha, funny," he said, and shoved her as he walked past all of them to the line.

The wait was rather long, but the friendly bond between the four of them made it seem like a lot less. So, naturally, John was a little surprised when they stood at the gates, waiting for the next train of cars, next to Kitty.

"Why do I have to ride with you?" he said, and she shoved him.

"Because the lovebirds want to ride with each other," she said.

"Ew," was John's reply as the next coaster screeched into the hangar.

Kitty crawled into the seat, and grinned ever so enthusiastically at John. He did not return the favor.

"Oh come on John. You're just proving that you're afraid," Kitty said as Marie and Bobby crawled into the two seats in front of them.

"No, I'm proving my ever increasing dislike of smiling. There's a difference," he replied as he buckled the seatbelt.

"You ready for this John," Bobby said cheerfully, trying to turn to look at him and failing miserably.

"No," he said, his nerves actually beginning to act up.

He hadn't expected to actually _be_ afraid. But, as he had come to learn over the years, he hated heights; therefore this probably wasn't going to help.

"Oh shit," he said as the coaster started to crawl up the tracks. "Okay. So maybe you're right," he said to Kitty as it reached nearly ¾ of the way up to the top of the incline.

"Ha! I knew it," she said, smiling fanatically. "The all-powerful John _is_ afraid of something."

He ignored her and grasped the handholds so hard his knuckles turned white. He could hear Bobby give an enthusiastic hoot as the coaster reached the top.

"Kill me now," John said, looking down at how high they were.

"Here we go," Kitty replied excitedly, bouncing in her seat.

As the coaster started to drop, he couldn't control himself any longer, and let out an adrenaline-fueled scream that Kitty, Rogue, and even Bobby matched. And for the 45 seconds that it took to circumnavigate the entire track, they never stopped.

"Oh, I think I'm gunna ralph," John groaned, staggering down the stairs on the other side of the Twister.

"Wooo," Bobby said, wholeheartedly patting John on the back. "Come on, you gotta admit, that was AWESOME!"

"Sure, if you're into plummeting toward the earth strapped to a one-ton hunk of metal," John replied, but his sarcastic answer was cut off by Marie laughing hysterically.

"What?" he said, not appreciating having his sarcasm interrupted.

"Look," she said, pointing into a wooden shack to the left of them.

The other three of them crowded around to see computer screens displaying pictures from during the ride.

Bobby and Kitty both burst out laughing as they caught site of their own car. Everyone was screaming, yes, but John's face was doubly as humorous because it resembled something out of the movie Scream.

He didn't laugh.

"Yeah, yeah. Lets all laugh at John," he said, taking his lighter out of the pocket of his black nylon swim trunks and clicking it open and closed.

"Wow, I'm not passing this one up," Bobby said, retrieving his wallet from his own swim trunks. "How much?"

"Ten," the woman behind the desk replied.

"Worth every penny," he said, handing her a ten and taking the picture from her. "Definitely photocopying this one and sticking it _everywhere._"

"Very funny, Bobby," John said, snatching the picture out of Bobby's hands and igniting a flame under it.

"Don't!" Bobby yelled and grabbed it back. "Butthole."

"Asshole. If you're gunna curse, do it right. I'm an asshole," John said, finally managing a grin.

Rogue scoffed. She hated that about John; the fact that he knew he was being hateful and still continued to do it, and he knew it. That was part of his problem, and part of her knew that he was aware of that. But he didn't know how to break it, so she took to doing it for him.

"Yes. Yes you are," she said, no hint of joking in her voice.

"So I think it's time for the water park," he said, changing the subject.

He hated when Rogue did that. He was a complete dick to everyone else, but every time he found himself around her, he could never do it. She just put a cork in his bottle of sarcasm, and no matter how hard he tried, she was somehow capable of holding it there.

"Alright, whatever scaredy cat says," Kitty said, and he shoved her. "And I thought Storm told you not to wear that shirt in public." Apparently, Kitty had just now noticed his amazingly offensive shirt.

Upon the dark brown cloth was an emblem of a Campbell's soup can, which read 'Campbell's Whoop Ass', with a hand holding a can opener over top of it.

"Well, I told her she could either let me keep it, or let me burn it. She decided that allowing me to catch fire to anything inside the school was a bad idea, so here we are," he said, making the motion and sound effect of a can opener.

Kitty couldn't help but laugh at John's nonsense as they made their way to the bathrooms next to the water park section to change into their bathing suits.

"You know," Bobby said, as they stood together outside of the restrooms waiting for the girls. "Everyone thinks you're an ass when you act like that."

John looked at Bobby, and thought about this statement for a moment.

"That's because I _am_ an ass, Captain Obvious," John said, smiling the most innocent of smiles.

"Well could you at least try to act like you don't hate everyone, at least for today? Rogue kind of needs a day to relax and I'm not going to let you mess it up," Bobby said, slightly on the offensive. Rogue had been extremely stressed lately, with Logan leaving to "find himself" or whatever, and it didn't help that he couldn't even give her a reassuring hug.

_I'd like to see you try,_ John thought to himself.

"Oh sure Bobby, I'll be a good little girl just for _you,_" he said, snapping the lid of his lighter open and closed.

Bobby turned to face John, malice hiding behind his slightly taller, ice blue eyes.

"Hey," Rogue said in her southern accent, approaching them. "You guys ready to go?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, completely abandoning his verbal battle with John and facing her with a smile.

John couldn't help but notice that she did a complete once-over of shirtless Bobby. He could have vomited at that moment. Talk about your complete lack of taste. The kid was a major geekoid with extra nerd to spare. And a little bit of complete pussy on the side.

To John's disappointment, and he was sure to Bobby's as well, Rogue had still managed to keep a large amount of her skin covered. She was wearing a black full piece bathing suit, which was somehow still flattering on her, and had a cover up draped over her hips that fell all the way to her ankles.

Kitty, on the other hand, did not. John and Bobby both watched as she sauntered out of the bathroom in a skimpy brightly colored bikini.

"That outfit is very becoming on you," John said as she approached.

"Thank you," she said, almost oblivious to Rogue's disappointed sigh.

"If I were on you like that, I'd be coming too," John said.

"EW," Kitty replied, slapping John on the chest as he cackled at his own joke.

"Let's roll," Bobby said, his peppy, peacemaker attitude completely returned.

They made their way to the large wave pool, where they had planned to spend a good amount of time. They found a few lawn chairs to set down their personals; the picture Bobby had bought, John's lighter (reluctantly), and Kitty's purse. This was the safest place, if they were to keep Rogue from accidentally bumping into anyone. The only thing was, they would have to stay in the deep waters, where not many people ventured. Which is where they found themselves ten minutes later.

"I hate water," John said as he paddled next to Kitty.

"That's because there's no fire in it," Rogue replied, finally addressing John to his face.

"If the foo shits," he said.

Kitty squealed as a deep rumbling told them the waves were about to start. Bobby smiled and faced Rogue; making sure to keep his distance, yet maintain a somewhat close proximity to her. At that moment, John had never felt so alone. Rogue and Bobby had the stupid hairy wow-wows for each other, and Kitty was more of a loner anyway; enjoying the giant waves all by her lonesome. It made him wonder why. Yes, he was a sarcastic ass most of the time, but they knew he was kidding… most of the time. Why, then, was he such an outcast? Something deep down told him they would regret it. And he didn't know yet how enormously true that feeling was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Oh come on Kitty," John pleaded with her.

"No," she said very forcefully. "Absolutely not."

"Kiiiittyyyyyy," he begged. "Seriously. It's the last day of summer, and you're telling me you just wanna sit on your ass and do nothing? Pleeease?"

"John, I told you no! If you want booze, you can walk into that store and get it yourself," she said, crossing her arms in denial.

John was sitting in the driver's seat of Storm's borrowed Jetta with Kitty riding shotgun in front of a liquor store at 6pm on a Sunday. After their trip to the amusement park, summer had flown by much too quickly. A new semester was starting on Monday, and everyone was bummed.

"Come on John, let's just go, okay?" Rogue said from the back seat. Her and Bobby, now a couple, had been strangely silent in the back of the car and it made John picture some disgusting images in his head. Which is why he was pestering Kitty to phase through the walls of the store and jack a bottle of, well, Jack.

"But I don't want to steal it," he said, waving some cash in her face. "All you have to do is grab a bottle, lay the money on the counter, and high tail it outta there." He retained as much decency as to not desire to steal the booze, it was just the fact that none of them were old enough to buy it legally. "Come on. If you don't, I'll have to go in there and steal it, and wouldn't you hate to contribute to my criminal record?"

"Oh, the non-existent one?" Rogue asked, pointing out his obvious attempt to make himself sound cooler than he was.

"Yes, that one. Now, like I said… come oooooonnn," he begged some more with Kitty.

"John, don't make her do that, that's unfair," Bobby began raising his voice from the backseat. "Just cuz she is the only one capable…"

"Oh, she's not," he said, rounding on Bobby with angered tones. "Rogue could just slap her some skin and do it herself, but yet again, she's proving that she is anything but a rogue."

She looked as if she might slap him, but contained herself.

"Alright, everyone just stop yelling!" Kitty practically screamed, and snatched the money out of John's hand and phased herself through the car door and toward the liquor store, brunette ponytail swaying.

John cackled triumphantly as Bobby sighed in disappointment. Bobby didn't know Kitty that well, but he knew this wasn't like her. She was just doing it because she had been pressured into doing it, and he hated that.

Kitty looked back one last time to the green Jetta where John sat in the front seat, giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. She wondered why Xavier had ever let someone like John get his license, and why Storm would _ever_ let him borrow the car.

She sighed, _so_ not wanting to do this right now. But, she would never hear the end of the "chicken-shit" chants from John if she turned back now.

She peeked through the wall of the store very tentatively, and looked around. The only person she could see was the clerk, who was leaning against the wall behind the counter, reading a magazine. Surely he thought the bell above the door would alert him if anyone entered. Guess again.

She quietly phased the rest of the way through the wall, and crouched low to the ground. She peered around the store, completely lost. After all, this was her first time in a liquor store.

_If I were Jack Daniels, where would I be?_ she thought to herself, peering down the aisles of booze. She spotted her prey, and went in for the kill, so to speak. As she grabbed the black-labeled bottle with it's auburn liquid sloshing around inside, she noticed something else. It was a foggy glass bottle with some palm trees and pineapples on the front that looked very tempting. It was a bottle of Malibu Tropical Pineapple rum.

_Well, as long as I'm really doing this,_ she thought, and grabbed that bottle as well. Then, she turned to face the counter, still crouched low so the teller wouldn't see her. She crawled over to the counter, and phased somewhat through the back and up to the register. She thought for sure that if this had been John, he'd have snatched some money out of the register instead of putting some in it. But, that's why she was blessed with this gift and not him. So, she reached up and laid the money into the register, even putting each bill into the correct slot. She grinned to herself as she turned around and began crawling toward the wall she had come in.

Just as she thought she was home free, the bell above the door sang it's tattle tale song as a customer walked in.

"_Shit,_" she hissed under her breath, and jumped behind an aisle.

"Hey Jim, how are you?" she heard the teller say.

_Whew_, she thought. He hadn't seen her.

"Pretty good, how 'bout yourself?" came the reply.

"Oh I'm hangin' in there. Hey the Malibu rum's on sale, just so you know," said the teller again.

She ruffled her brow and looked down at the bottle in her hand, and sure enough there was a bright orange sticker on it reading "20% off."

_I'll be damned,_ she thought. _I overpaid. Oh well. It's John's money anyway._

All of a sudden she only had seconds to think as she noticed the customer, Jim was his name, heading her way. Thinking fast, she phased her hand through the wall and set the bottles on the ground outside. She pulled her hand back in just in time as Jim came walking around the aisle.

"Uh," he said, looking down at her, confused.

"Uh," she said, voice cracking, thinking of something to say. "Damn! You caught me." She stood up and faced the now confused teller. "I was gunna surprise you."

"Do I know you?" he said. He couldn't have been older than twenty-four, but his dumbstruck face made him look twelve.

"Uh, yeah! Remember, senior year chemistry class?" she said, making up all this bullshit as she went. Plus, she had a hard time seeing how he would believe she was out of high school, since she was only seventeen at the moment.

"I was home schooled," he said in a monotone.

"Oh," she said, voice cracking again. "My bad. Wrong guy. See ya later!" With that, she made a b-line for the door faster than she thought she had ever moved before.

She could barely contain her laughter as she rounded the corner, picked up the booze from the sidewalk, and walked to the car. Once back inside the Jetta, she immediately burst out laughing as John took the bottles from her.

"Have you gone loopy?" John asked, an eyebrow raised.

"No," she giggled, composing herself and proceeding to tell them the whole story through interruptions of laughter from everyone else.

Once back at the mansion, it wasn't hard to get the alcohol into Bobby and John's room, where the four of them sat, pouring helpings into shot glasses John had managed to lift from Cyclops' room.

"Aren't you glad you did it, Kitty?" John chided as he picked up his first shot.

"No, but I am glad I tipped the idiot at the cash register 5 bucks," she said, smiling.

John frowned, realizing that he had given her too much money, but didn't give it too much thought.

"Cheers," he said, holding up his shot glass for the three of them to toast.

He downed his shot of Jack with ease, the burning sensation being very welcoming to him. His blood ran, on average, ten degrees warmer than that of typical human temperature, so he gave off more warmth than the others. Thus, the burning of the alcohol wasn't as fierce with him.

The girls, on the other hand, weren't so lucky. And Bobby, for that matter. They coughed as tears came to their eyes, and they tried to fight the irresistible urge to gag.

"Pussies," John said as he poured himself another shot.

They went through almost a quarter of the booze without any interruptions. They were foolish to think such good fortune would continue. But then again, their judgment was already impaired.

They jumped, some choking on half-downed shots as the door flew open. They stared, dumbstruck at Peter Rasputin and Ray Creed. Peter looked wholeheartedly surprised, as did Ray, but Ray had good reason. He looked as if he had just gotten out of the shower, as the only thing he wore was a loosely draped towel around his hips.

"Jesus!" he yelled, trying to cover up better. "We said no girls in the room!"

"Oh," Bobby stated, his tone indicating how intoxicated he was. "Slorry."

"Slorry?" Ray said, now covered as best he could manage and strolling into the room. "I think you've had quite enough." Ray grabbed the bottle, but instead of taking it from them, he stole Bobby's shot glass and poured himself one. "How dare you not invite me."

"Slorry," Rogue said, already making fun of Bobby.

Everyone laughed, and passed the bottle around. Again, their enjoyment lasted a few minutes before being ruined again. But this time, unbeknownst to them, it was for good.

The door opening again interrupted their cheerful conversations, but this time they wouldn't get off the hook so easily. It was Jean Grey, flanked by an angry Storm. They stopped dead in their tracks, knowing they had been caught. No one said a word as angry glances were passed around the room.

Now, they knew. They hadn't even noticed that Peter hadn't come in when Ray had, and he was most likely the cause of their bust. John made a mental note to tell someone capable to beat up Peter someday.

Then, to everyone's amusement, Ray slowly raised a finger and a bolt of electricity shot from it, extinguishing all the lights in the room. As if Jean and Storm hadn't already noticed the booze. And it didn't help that while the lights were out, the clinking of bottles could be heard moving from the bed.

Storm sighed in disappointment, and flipped back on the pooped circuit just outside the room in the hallway. Sure enough, the booze was gone from the bed.

"Yeah, real smooth," Jean said menacingly, strolling around to see the bottles shoved hastily under the nearest bed.

They were caught red handed and they knew it. They didn't bother to make up excuses as they were drilled with the disappointment speech for the next half an hour.

"How did you even get it?" Storm asked, wholly upset.

No one needed to even answer, they were sure, because Jean had probably already sapped the information from Kitty's mind. Jean never really intruded into people's thoughts without permission, but in these circumstances, she would allow herself the choice.

"Kitty?" Jean asked, the disenchantment ringing through her voice. "Of all people, I would think it of _you_ last."

Kitty frowned and let her head bow in shame. She knew she shouldn't have listened to John. And she knew he would never fess up either.

"It's my fault," he blurted, keeping his elegant cool tone.

Kitty was so surprised by this that she actually abandoned her shame to turn and stare at John, not believing he was actually taking responsibility.

"I asked her to do it. She even said no. Three times. I'm sorry. But please don't take it out on her," he said, still maintaining his arrogance even in defeat.

Kitty wanted to pinch herself, to make sure she wasn't in a dream. John _never_ takes responsibility. There must be something in it for him. Yeah, there has to be. There's no other explanation.

Jean seemed somewhat impressed, but it quickly fizzled out. "Well," she began, "you have no idea how disappointed I am in all of you. John, Saturday detentions for a month. The rest of you, I'll see you this Saturday," she finished curtly and whipped around to exit the room. Storm followed, huffing and taking the booze with her. They would be regretting this for a long time. But not as much as they would regret it tomorrow morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The month's worth of detentions wasn't so bad. He just had to do a lot of Xavier's paperwork, wash all the cars, and clean in the stables, which decidedly sucked. Kitty's respect of John went up tenfold, however, after he had taken the fall for the booze. That hadn't been his intention, he had just heard Bobby's speech from back at Six Flags ringing throughout his skull and figured he might try to not be an asshole for once. Not all the time, it was too much damn fun, but just the once. However, Rogue's nonchalant ignoring of John never changed which was increasingly agitating him. He didn't quite know what he expected from her, because he was content with her being with Bobby. But something about the way she disregarded him irked him slightly. What was her problem with him anyway? His only explanation to himself was his complete disregard for the safety of others. He never cared who got hurt, emotionally or physically. But what she didn't know was that he was only reproducing what he learned from his abusive and workaholic father and alcoholic mother. Somewhere, deep down, he was glad his flames had obliterated them from his life. That thought scared him, because it made him wonder who else he would incinerate without a care. But, fear was something he never tolerated for long amounts of time, so he conjured up a mental flame of his own and torched the thought.

He stood in the blistering rays of the sun donning nothing but a white wife beater and knee length somewhat baggy shorts. He flicked his lighter cap in the same pattern he always did, creating a beat to a song even he wasn't familiar with. But it didn't matter at the moment, because he was patiently awaiting the next car to be cleaned. Along with the others who had been caught in the incident, they had washed almost all of the cars. There were two left, then this detention would conclude the long series. The others hadn't been assigned to help, but felt obligated. Peter joined them, just because he enjoyed the outdoors, and any physical labor. John couldn't see why.

His eyes brightened as Rogue trotted up to him wearing a spaghetti string tank top and short shorts. She always covered as much skin as possible when out in public, but here, there was no need. Everyone knew her power and to stay well away from her. Plus, she wasn't about to let the opportunity for a nice tan slip through her fingers.

"Storm wants you to pull Scott's car around," she said, holding out the keys.

John's heart pounded at the idea. Scott's car was easily the best muscle car for miles.

"Alright," he said, taking the keys from her while being very careful not to touch her hand. "Where's it at?"

"Don't end a sentence in a preposition, genius," she said smoothly.

_You _would_ say something like that,_ he thought. _Alright, right back at ya smart ass._

"Okay. Where's it at… bitch?"

Finally fed up with his bullshit, she slapped him on the arm. It wasn't enough contact for her to imprint his power, but it was enough to make the slap sting more than normal.

"It's in the farthest garage, numbnuts," she said, and turned away from him.

He laughed, knowing that he always came out on top in verbal arguments, and jogged to the furthest garage.

To say Scott's deep blue sports car was impressive would be an understatement. As John sidled into the black leather upholstery, he couldn't help but whistle in astonishment. He couldn't wait to get his hands on a car like this; take it onto the open roads, and see what it was _really _capable of. He had more in common with that car than he knew yet.

Over the next few weeks, classes went smoothly, with John being in three of them with Bobby and Rogue, much to Rogue's displeasure. And, as of now, they were sitting in a class Storm taught which was World History. But, she added her own flare by providing the history of mutation along with it. Turns out, mutants have been around a lot longer than John thought. That's one of the pieces of information he was actually paying attention to. Which didn't happen often. Kind of like right now.

He sat in his chair backwards and counted down the minutes until the end of class. Back in the day, Storm used to get angry with him for doing that until she had received his first couple of test scores and realized he had retained everything. He heard everything she was saying, and remembered it. Never took any notes, never watched the movies, and never looked at her illustrations on the board. Everything just made sense to him in his head, so he saw no reason to pay full attention. Nothing challenged him anymore. Back when he was learning about his power, he had been fascinated, but now that he had managed it, he was back to being bored. Which was never good. Something always ended up thin 'n' crispy when he got bored, usually the younger students.

The instant the second-hand hit twelve, he was up and heading for the door.

"Remember to pack a lunch tomorrow for the field trip, because we'll be there all day. Make sure to be out front at exactly 7:30!" Storm called to the bustling students.

Bobby caught up to him, Rogue trailing close behind.

"What's your hurry? You remember we have a session with Xavier after class?" he asked, loosely carrying a notebook under one arm.

"Yeah," John replied, truly unsure of why he had the urge to get out of class so badly. "I just hate learning."

"Of course," Bobby laughed.

After the alcohol incident, it seemed as if Bobby had made an active attempt to spend more time with John. Maybe he felt guilty that John had taken the fall for everyone when he barely knew shit about him. And that's how John planned on letting it stay.

"I'll see ya later, okay Bobby?" Rogue said in that cute little accent again.

"Yeah, okay," he replied, and squeezed her gloved hand affectionately before letting her go. He blew her a kiss as she turned down the corridor to where all the girl's rooms were.

"Get a room," John joked, knowing full well that they _never_ would.

"Shut up," Bobby said.

As they entered their room to put their books away, John noticed a particularly rancid smell as he looked at Ray and Peter.

"Yo, why's my crib smell like broccoli fart and ball sweat?" John chided, which was answered by a haughty laugh from all three of the other boys.

"Ray accidentally fried my computer," Peter said, holding up the keyboard.

It had obviously been shocked beyond itss limits because home row was black amongst the other silver keys.

"You get angry that your pornos weren't downloading fast enough or something?" John said, and Ray threw a textbook at him, which he skillfully dodged.

"Hey!" John yelled, picking up the chemistry book. "Books are our friends."

"He hasn't opened that book since the day he got it," Peter said in his deep, Russian voice, studying the chords of his computer.

"Think you can fix it?" John said, throwing his books onto the bed and retrieving his lighter from his pants pocket.

"Oh yeah. He didn't do too much damage. I think maybe the hard drive just needs to be reconfigured, and then it'll be okay," Peter replied, pulling the battery from the bottom of the machine.

"Whatever you say, tin man," John replied, and grabbed Ray's notebook from him. "Got any notes your never gunna look at?"

"Uh yeah, all of them," Ray said, tossing his short orange bangs from his face.

John grinned wide, pulling out a few pages and whipping his lighter underneath it.

"Hey! Storm told you not to do that inside anymore," Bobby said, attempting to take the about-to-catch-fire paper from John's grasp.

"Well, as long as nobody tells," John said, adding extra sarcasm as he glared at Peter, "She wont find out, will she?"

Bobby sighed as the paper went up in flames and began shrinking and withering as it turned from white to brown to black. As the flames danced about atop their perch, transforming each millisecond into brilliant patterns of orange, yellow, white, and sometimes blue, he reached out to them. It was like speaking to someone when he manipulated fire, only without words. They obeyed his will, and it made him feel all-powerful. It gave him a feeling of superiority, but it also provided a type of companionship he was sure he would never share with another person. They warmed him, on the outside as well as deep down inside his soul. It was his own special pleasure, something he valued as his very own. It sickened him that Charles Xavier's telepathy might have pried some of that overwhelming joy from him when he delved into his mind to determine what had happened the night he destroyed everything he knew. He had never told Xavier the whole story, but he did agree to let him look at his memories and decipher them himself. So in that regard, Xavier also knew what he had gone through as a child, but had promised to keep it confidential.

As he stared at the captivating beauty, his vision changed. It morphed from the typical eyesight of a human being to embrace the infrared. His world was suddenly defined by the heat it generated. His mind reeled in the knowledge of his craft; he knew exactly what it would take to set the bed aflame, the bedside table, the boys standing all around him.

As he spoke silently to the flames, they began to obey him, as always. They formed the figure of a flaming woman, thin and curvaceous, sauntering along the surface of the now all black paper, hands on her hips.

"You know, the white part of a flame is the hottest," John said, his tone flat as he admired his marvelous work.

"Yeah, and you know the coldest part of ice is the ice," Bobby stated matter-of-factly as he extended his hand to within inches of the paper.

Before John could wrench his beloved child away, Bobby had completely solidified it into an ice sculpture that became heavy in his hands and he let it drop to shatter on the floor.

"Why cant you ever just let me enjoy _something_ for once?" John asked, perturbed.

"Because, you'll end up burning the school down one of these days," Bobby said, picking up the pieces of the shattered flame-woman.

"Not if you're always here to _save the day,_" John replied jokingly, but his tone implied the seriousness that was lurking behind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The weather out in the garden where Xavier held his personal appointments was unbelievably beautiful. The sun cast such bright rays onto the shrubbery and flowers that their colors were otherworldly. The giant fountain played tricks on the boys' eyes with its crystalline reflections bouncing off of almost every tangible surface, including the Professor's chrome wheelchair and bald head.

"You're late," he stated with his typical smile gracing his face. "Why?"

"Why?" John began, and both Bobby and Xavier knew sarcasm was soon to follow. "Because I ran out of fairy dust, otherwise I would have flown. Humph, why," he finished the last statement by making it sound like the question had been ludicrous.

As he always did, Xavier shrugged off John's statement and beckoned them further into the enclosed garden.

"Bobby, have you practiced what I taught you last?" he started.

"I have, sir," Bobby replied happily, and John scoffed at his politeness. "However I'm having trouble keeping objects frozen for long periods of time without sufficient air humidity."

"Yes, as I suspected. Quite similar to how John is incapable of producing a powerful flame at high elevation where there is not adequate oxygen to feed it," Xavier stated.

Bobby nodded in reply. They had been working on advancing their powers lately, as Xavier saw fit. Bobby had been working on keeping objects frozen for long periods of time without having to concentrate on them nonstop, and John was _supposed_ to be practicing in the Danger Room, where the amount of oxygen could be decreased. Xavier held the firm belief that John's manipulated fire didn't need a steady feed of oxygen, and that John alone could feed it with his willpower. The only problem was, with the nature of his power and his increased body temperature, _he_ needed the excess oxygen. So, he gave up on that the first try.

"Have _you_ practiced, John?" Xavier asked, and John knew an answer was unnecessary for Xavier had already seen it in his mind.

The Professor raised a chastising eyebrow at him, and turned to address Bobby again.

"Now, I'm going to have you two attempt something I don't normally have students do, but keep in mind, it is for the advancement of your abilities," Xavier said, and the boys' curiosity was hooked. "Step forward, please."

They both stepped forward, the metronomic pattern of John's clicking lighter cap already filling the air.

"I would like you to stand shoulder-to-shoulder for me," he said, and they did as they were told. John's curiosity got the better of him, so for the moment, his sarcastic comments halted.

"This is for safety, so please refrain from hugging each other," Xavier joked, knowing full well the testosterone battle occurring between them. John rolled his eyes. "Now, this will be a continuation of the tasks I assigned to you when last we met. Bobby, I would like you to create a mass of ice with sufficient strength."

"Strength for what?" Bobby began, but was cut off by Xavier.

"You shall see, have patience," he said.

"John," he said, turning his wheelchair to address him to his face. "Since we obviously can't monitor the oxygen out here, I want each of you to attempt to extinguish the other's element. But _please_ remain the way you are standing; I don't want anyone hurt. This will help you, Bobby, by making it a little more difficult to keep the ice solid. John, this will create a type of boundary for you, not unlike that of oxygen, to help you learn how to feed it with only your will. Understand?"

Both the boys nodded. Xavier always found time to explain whatever exercise they were doing, so that his students always knew there would be a point. Most of the kids appreciated it because not all adults were honest with them, and they could always trust Xavier. At the moment, however, John didn't care. He just wanted to burn shit.

He watched as Bobby's hands crystallized slightly and a sphere of ice started to form in his palm. It turned a plethora of different colors as light refracted off of every surface. John ignited a flame with the Zippo and pulled it away with his hand. Xavier sat silently, observing, and as soon as Bobby had created a solid ice ball, he nodded at John.

Before John got to work, he couldn't resist taunting Bobby.

"Big ice ball. Compensating for something?" he said, which resulted in an elbow to the ribs.

John started to concentrate on the task in front of him, considering that if he didn't, it might cost Bobby his hand. And contrary to popular belief, he actually kind of liked the kid.

So, without further ado, he went to work. He enveloped the ice in an equally impressive fireball. The ice ball immediately began to melt and the water that cascaded away didn't even have time to drip through the flames. The fire burned so hot that it evaporated and rose into the air as steam. However, Bobby regenerated the ice so quickly that whatever amount of substance that was melted was almost immediately replaced by a new layer, so the supply of steam only grew with time. Xavier looked on, waiting.

John slowly found himself becoming obsessed with winning this debacle. He intensified the flames; making them thicker and hotter than before, yet still managing to keep them from touching Bobby. Bobby sensed this change, and also upped the ante. The ice regenerated faster, and he made every surface of it colder. He used the steam being generated from the encounter, and pulled from that the humidity he needed. However, there was one thing he didn't have; the superiority complex that made John the type of person who didn't lose, and would never take no for an answer.

But just as John was using this to reduce Bobby's handheld iceberg to a cute little ice cube, a thunderclap cleaved through the sky. Before John knew what was happening, his mind had already reacted to a subconscious threat he wasn't even aware of yet.

Images flashed in his mind, like the pictures of a stop-motion movie. One moment he was standing in his old dining room, lightning flashes carving dancing shadows on the far wall out of the three bodies standing there. The next, he was hitting the table and falling face down on the floor, writhing in pain as the large man raised his hand to strike again. Next, the frail woman was taking the strike, right across her face. He could hear her weeping, hear the man yelling. Anger blazed inside of him, hotter than the fireplace burning near the crib. And the baby. The baby was crying…

"John!" Xavier was yelling, and he hadn't even noticed. He came out of what he now realized was a flashback to recognize the fearful and concerned looks on Bobby's and the professor's faces. He also noticed the burned hem of Bobby's long-sleeved polo, and his slightly blackened hands.

"Are you alright?" Xavier asked, guiding his wheelchair a bit closer.

"I…" he stammered, looking for an answer. He only ever saw those images in his dreams, his nightmares. He hadn't expected to see it fully awake. But he wouldn't let his discomposure last long. "win."

"Excuse me?" Xavier said, looking wholly confused.

"I win," John replied, smiling and pointing to Bobby's hands.

Both Xavier and Bobby rolled their eyes, knowing that this hadn't just been a show of power. But Xavier let it go, and released them by telling them what time they would meet next, and that it would be in the Danger Room.

John was deathly silent as the two young men walked back to their dorm, which as Bobby had come to realize over the years, wasn't normal.

"You okay?" Bobby asked gingerly, trying to make sure to keep the conversation quiet to preserve John's pride.

"Fine," he replied curtly and quickened his step in the hopes of loosing Bobby. It didn't work. "Just proving my worth is all."

"That was _not_ just some show, John. What happened?" Bobby asked, real concern ringing in his voice.

John would have been touched, were he not an emotional train wreck that steered clear of saviors.

"I said I'm _fine_, okay Bobby? Just let it go for God's sake," he said, opening the door to their dorm room, and turning his back on Bobby, ending the conversation.


	7. Chapter 7

*Woot! Gettin' into the movie now!*

**Chapter 7**

After taking refuge in his large stack of homework and late work, John had sunk into his bed and had an extremely deep night of sleep. Which is why Bobby had such a hard time waking him up the following morning.

"John? John. John!" Bobby's voice was accompanied by not so gentle shoves. "John, get up. Your alarm went off fifteen minutes ago. John!"

John groaned and heartily kicked Bobby away.

"Seriously dipshit, the bus for the museum leaves in half an hour. GET UP!"

Barely becoming conscious, and definitely not rational, John replied with a statement that he had been prepared to use on Captain Gomer Gunpowder and his band of time-traveling buckaneers in his dream.

"Pull the hatch forward, what year is it good sir?" he groaned.

Bobby could barely contain himself as waves of laughter came from all the boys in the room.

"Get up, unless you don't want a shower," Bobby finally managed after his fits of laughter had worn off.

"Alright, I'm up, I'm up," he said, threw his sheets off, and trudged down the hall in only his boxers, which procured disgusted scoffs from several younger girls.

After a nice ten minute shower, which he considered long and luxurious, he shaved his face, and sulked back to the room to find a suitable outfit. Raking a comb through his hair, he pulled out a nice patterned button up, his favorite brown leather jacket, and some black slacks.

"Jeez, we're not going to the Ritz," Bobby said as he pulled on his clothes.

"Hey, unlike some people, I like to look nice when I go out into public. Plus, there might be babes at this museum, I have to be in tip-top pimpin' shape," John said, combing his hair back and imitating the Fonz.

"Okay, sure John. Whatever you say. But honestly, I wouldn't be picking up chicks at the Museum of Natural History. They're all gunna be fat or messed up in the head," Bobby chuckled, finger combing his auburn hair.

John wrung his fingers together, looking like an evil witch and said, "All the better to bring home and never call again, my dear."

Bobby laughed out loud as they headed to the front courtyard where everyone was gathering.

"Everyone ready?" Storm yelled above the crowd of students standing in the bitter New York morning air.

John shivered as he flicked the lid of his lighter open and closed. The thunderstorm that had quickly moved in after their lesson with Xavier had chilled the air, and left the morning cooler than normal. His high body temperature made his reaction to cold happen a lot sooner than it typically would for everyone else, and he hated how he shivered when nobody else did. His leather jacket helped a little, but not much.

"Cold?" Bobby asked, nudging John in the ribs.

"No," he said defiantly as he heaved another great shudder.

He grinned as Rogue approached, her eyes bearing black circles. Her shoulders were hunched, and she resembled someone who hadn't slept in a year. Definately not a morning person.

"Late night with _Bobbeeee?_" John cooed.

"Go fuck yourself John," she said curtly.

He raised an eyebrow at her sudden fiendish reply.

"Oh, I love the smell of brimstone in the morning," he said, referring to Rogue's present devil-like attitude.

Bobby laughed, which procured a dirty look from Rogue, as they all loaded onto a large, unmarked black bus that Xavier had purchased for just this reason. It made them look like prestigious scholarship students riding in style. The only thing left would be silver spinners on the wheels, and they'd be good to go. But of course, Xavier had to spend his money on books and other educational items, the prick.

Storm was always organized, so she had the older kids in the back, and the younger ones up front, where she would be sitting. Though one look to John told him that he could end up in the front if he decided to show off. So, he decided to sing every song on his iPod aloud the entire forty-five minute drive.

At the current, he was in the middle of a nice serenade which most of the boys in the back were involved in. Yes, even Bobby.

"So, fellas!" John yelled, waving his arms around and bouncing like a two-year-old.

"Yeah," they all chimed back.

"Fellas."

"Yeah!"

"Has your girlfriend got the butt?" he said, standing up in his seat and shaking his butt like a showgirl.

"Hell yeah," the rest of them yelled, which procured a dirty look from Storm.

"Tell 'em to shake it!"

"Shake it."

"Shake it!"

"Shake it."

"Shake that healthy butt, baby got back," John finished by grabbing his crotch like so many rappers did and shook his ass in the faces of several girls.

"John, that is _enough!_" Storm yelled from the front. "Sit down before you hurt yourself. And don't make me come back there."

"_Don't make me come back there,_" John chided in a high-pitched voice, mocking her. So, he resulted to whispering the songs the rest of the way.

Once inside the museum, Storm and Jean took roll, and they headed toward the History of Man exhibit. Storm took her group of kids, and Jean, along with Scott, took hers. The three stooges were placed with Storm. The exhibit was set up in a kind of timeline, with dioramas displaying first the earliest men (which John just called cavemen, or dumb shits) to the later civilizations, such as Rome, and later on, the discovery of the New World by the Spaniards. But what Storm didn't know yet was that these three star pupils would never make it that far.

It took John the whole of five minutes to get bored. He nudged Bobby in the ribs.

"What?" he whispered, so as not to disrupt Storm's speech about Cro Magnon man.

"Let's go on an adventure," he said, flicking the lid to his lighter. He cradled it like a baby, after almost having it taken away at the security booths up front.

"Why? It's only 10:25," Bobby asked, actually kind of enjoying Storm's lecture. She was a commanding speaker; with her loud yet gentle voice and capturing appearance. Bobby had to admit, to say she was beautiful would be an understatement.

"Why not," John replied, looking around at all the people cluttered into the museum. "We get it; man was stupid, created fire, became brilliant. Lets go to the food court. I'm starving."

"Do you ever stop thinking about food?" Rogue said around Bobby.

"Yes, when I'm thinking about fire. Please?" he asked, batting his eyelashes at the two of them.

Rogue was the first to agree, and Bobby just kind of had to follow suit. He'd be a perfect husband some day.

"What do I want?" John said once they had easily snuck away from Storm's group and into the nearby food court. He was staring at the many available restaurants trying to decide which to rid of all their food.

"Knowing you, everything," Rogue said, pulling out a leather wallet.

The three of them, along with some other students, routinely did work around the mansion to earn a kind of allowance, so they had some money to spare. John, however, was always running low because he decided to spend his on a phone, and the phone bill that followed. Rogue was always wondering who exactly he could be talking to so much when he had two friends, and they were always within talking distance anyway. But then again, she didn't really consider herself his friend, so really he had one. But she didn't tell him that.

"I think I want Chipotle," John said, and headed toward the long line leading to the burrito shop.

"Me too," Bobby said, hungrily eyeing their large menu.

"Men," Rogue whispered under her breath, and headed to the Greek eatery. She had a taste for the exotic.

Once they had all ordered and met back together, they lay their modest feast on a table and went to work. Bobby immediately chatted up with John, first random pointless topics, then a challenge.

"So Johnny," Bobby said, wiping some sour cream from his lips and licking it off of his finger. John gave him a sour look for the nickname. "Which do you think would be more painful, freezing to death or burning?"

John scoffed. "Burning, duh. I mean, forty percent of your skin can burn off before it kills you. _Forty percent_. Not to mention breathing in the smoke."

"Yeah, but think about it," Bobby began, obviously about to fire off into a nice long explanation. Rogue sighed, bracing herself for the long verbal battle about to ensue. She took one last bite of her gyro, and threw it into the paper-lined red basket it had come in.

"Alright, enlighten me, Icecube," John said, and leaned back in his chair so he could listen intently to Bobby's speech.

"You don't just lull to sleep when you're freezing, like some people think. It all starts with shivering," Bobby began, making it sound like a particularly dramatic scene in a movie.

Rogue did her best to look bored to tears.

"Just a little at first, then it turns to violent convulsions. The moisture in your lungs starts to freeze, so that even breathing is painful," Bobby said, narrowing his eyes. He reminded John of a father telling a story at a campfire that's supposed to be scary but really isn't. But then again, John wouldn't know about that.

"This conversation is painful," Rogue said, letting her gaze wander from the boys' epic battle. They landed on a pair of eyes, staring at her from another table. She let a slight grin hit her lips, searching for any amusement other than the war of worlds being fought at her table.

"Then your blood begins to crystallize. Your brain starts screaming for oxygen, and you cant stop yourself as you sink uncontrollably into complete _insanity,_" Bobby continued, adding dramatic undertones.

"Insanity, huh?" John asked, flicking the lid to his lighter open, igniting a flame, then extinguishing it. "I suppose that might be considered a step up for you, huh Bobby?"

Bobby was about to slug John on the arm when they felt a presence approach the table. All three pairs of eyes rose to see two boys, high school age, standing at the side of their table.

Rogue sighed. She hadn't realized her wayward smile might be taken as an invitation.

"Hey," the nearest boy chimed, more to Marie than anyone else.

She meekly smiled, making sure to give the feeling that her smile hadn't been an invitation. The silence that followed made for an awkward moment.

"Hey," Bobby said, trying to diffuse the situation.

"I was talking to her," the boy said, bringing his hand to his lips to reveal a previously unnoticed cigarette. This was probably to show how cool he was in front of Marie.

John, happy to watch some drama unfold, sat forward in his chair, elbows on the table, flicking the lighter cap open, closed, open, closed.

The second boy stepped forward and motioned to John.

"Got a light?" he asked, pulling his own unlit cigarette from behind his ear.

John smiled at the irony of the statement, and flicked the cap open again to ignite a flame. He stared at it, admiring its raw beauty.

"Hey, my brother asked you a simple question," boy number one said, turning to tower over John. He was sure he was taller than these mooks, but the effort of getting up to intimidate them didn't seem worth it. So, he continued to taunt them by not answering the question and maintained his admiration of the flame.

Bobby and Rogue looked on, half perplexed by the argument unfolding, half worried of impending doom.

"Why're you being such a dick?" boy number two said, followed by a repeat of the statement from boy number one.

John scoffed, wholly entertained. "Because I can."

Boy number one showed his anger as he spaced his words for emphasis, "Can… I… have… a… light?"

John pretended to think about it for a second before making a show of slamming the cap closed.

"Sorry, cant help ya out pal," he said, and giggled at their frustrated faces.

"John, knock it off," Rogue said, worried that there would be deep fried homo-sapien if the argument continued. John merely kept giggling.

"Why don't you stop showin' off?" Bobby added, seriousness creeping back into his voice.

"Oh, for her?" John scoffed, pointing to Rogue in a "she wishes" type of manner. "I can't help it if your girlfriend's gettin' excited."

"I don't think she's getting excited, alright?" Bobby chipped, defensively.

"Don't get shook up, we're tryin' to have a good time, here," John said, thoroughly enjoying the conflict.

"I think you're the only one having a good time," Bobby said wryly.

John half grinned, but it was short lived.

He had miscalculated as boy number one snatched the lighter from his grasp and backed away to light his cigarette. Rogue and Bobby's faces went flat as they watched John's reaction. He loved that lighter, for more than one reason. It was his only source of fire, since he couldn't create it himself. So, when he was left helpless, he tended to freak out.

"Hey," he practically yelled, the smirk wiped from his face. He leaped up to grab for it, but boy number two shoulder-checked him, making himself a barrier. John had miscalculated about this guy's size too; he was about the same, but with a bit more muscle, so trying to shove through him would have been a struggle. So, he decided to let it go, let them have their fun, and get his darling back as soon as possible.

"Watcha gunna do now, huh?" boy number one said smoothly, making sure to blow his lungful of smoke right in John's face. John giggled to himself, trying to think a few reasons _not_ to show this jerk-off how insignificant he really was. Nothing came to mind. "Suddenly you're not so tough," the boy continued.

John sighed, his patience wearing thin. He never was good with that specific virtue.

Bobby and Rogue should have seen it coming. Later, they would tell themselves that they had, they just didn't have time to react. Either way, John's next action couldn't have been avoided.

He winked at the boy who was holding his lighter, reaching out to speak to the tiny baby embers on the end of his Marlboro Red. He immediately amplified the tip of the cigarette to a white-hot blaze that would put rocket fueled jet blasts to shame. It ate away at every centimeter of paper that it could, crawling it's way to the boy's mouth faster than the eye could see. The boy yanked his hand away as the pain of his fingers blistering registered in his mind. He gasped and tried to throw what was left of the cigarette away, but the now weightless embers floated to the sleeve of his jacket and ignited.

John giggled, looking around at the nearby people who were scrambling to safety and calling for fire extinguishers. The boy furiously batted at the sleeve of his jacket and stumbled backward to sprawl on the floor. Bobby, seeing no other solution, stepped forward.

He outstretched his hand toward the boy, his skin becoming that familiar baby blue crystal color, and a freezing mist extended to the blazing cloth. The fire grew smaller, and almost instantly went out, and Bobby sighed, waiting for the shocked faces to turn on him.

The boy on the ground barely had time to stare at Bobby in disbelief as every person around them stopped moving, speaking, even breathing. For a moment, it didn't register to the three kids. They looked around, surprise showing on their faces. Rogue and John looked accusingly at Bobby.

"Bobby, what'd you do?" Rogue said, staring at a nearby woman.

"I didn't do this," he said, knowing that it would have taken a lot more effort than that to freeze all these people into place.

"No," came a deep, familiar voice. "I did."

They turned to see Professor Xavier guiding his wheelchair smoothly toward them, followed by the entire fieldtrip group. He was staring disapprovingly at John, who fidgeted under his gaze.

"The next time you feel like showing off, don't," he said calmly, raising an eyebrow. John sighed, having no smart comeback.

An awkward silence was sure to follow, but it was interrupted by a voice that rung through the air like only a newscaster's could.

"We repeat," it began, and all eyes turned to the mounted screen on the wall behind Xavier. "The President is unharmed. We were told that an attempt has been made on his life by an assailant that has been tentatively identified as a _mutant._"

Shock and dread fell on the stunned crowd, and they all looked around at each other.

"Professor," Cyclops said, quietly breaking the silence, "I think it's time to go."

"Yes, I think you're right," Xavier said, and turned toward the door without another word to John or the other two.

They followed submissively, John grabbing his beloved Zippo from the boy's unmoving hand.

"Thank you, Beavis," he said, and pocketed the lighter. "See ya, Butthead," he muttered to the second frozen boy before he shoulder-checked him and followed the rest of the group out to the bus.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

John sat on his bed, more staring out the window than doing homework, like he was supposed to be doing. He hadn't been punished for the incident at the museum, 1) because the teachers had more pressing matters on their minds, and 2) because he had explained to Xavier the circumstances, and how he had been somewhat provoked. He did, however, leave out the parts where he had been taunting the idiots.

He aimlessly flipped through his Trigonometry book, staring out the window on the far wall. He was the only one in the room, and the silence helped him to think. He wondered about the clip of the news they had seen. He had watched some more reports when they had reached the mansion, and seen that the knife used in the attack bore a red ribbon with "Mutant Freedom Now!" scribed upon it. Everyone else was shocked and horrified, but he understood. Mutants were being shunned and discriminated upon as African Americans had been in the past, and something had to be done about it. Jean had been working with congress to pass legislation, but was that working? Of course not. But this… this got their attention, didn't it? Maybe if extreme measures were the only way, then so be it.

His trail of thought was broken when Bobby noisily came into the room and flopped onto his own bed. John slammed his book closed, and looked over at Bobby's disgruntled face.

"What's up?" he asked, tossing his book loudly to the floor.

"Logan's back," he said, sounding disappointed.

"Monsieur incroyable?" John said in a very badly immitated French accent.

Bobby couldn't help but giggle a little bit. He had to admit, John could be a pain sometimes, but he really knew how to make a guy feel better.

"What's wrong with that?" John said, reaching into the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out some hard candies, and popping a red one into his mouth. He offered Bobby one, but he refused with a handshake.

"It's just that Rogue's relationship with that guy… it's not normal. Whenever he's around, she prances around like a love struck puppy," he sighed, staring at the high ceiling.

John looked at him for a moment, puzzled.

"Yeah, I'm not so good at the advice thing, but can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?" he said, smiling.

Bobby laughed and leaned up.

"Don't worry about it," John said, popping another candy into his mouth. "That guy's probably on so many steroids that his equipment is…"

"John!" Bobby laugh-yelled.

John grinned wickedly. Bobby felt like adding a "why would it matter, she can't anyway," but thought it inappropriate.

So, he just smiled and changed the topic.

"Storm and Jean are gunna try to round up that mutant that attacked the president, so he's our baby sitter for tonight," he said, finally deciding to have one of John's candies.

"So it was true?" John asked. "It was definitely a mutant?"

"Yeah," Bobby said. "Xavier found him with Cerebro. He's in Boston."

"Hm," John thought about it for a second. Did they really want a mutant with homicidal tendencies in the mansion?

A few hours passed, everyone bustling around the mansion, talking about the attempt on the president. John, however, kept his opinion to himself because he knew it would be shunned by the rest. He had a more violent imagination, and he was imagining riots on a large scale and possibly even the registration act being introduced. Everyone would be able to tell when a mutant was around. And John wouldn't let it get that far. If he was forced to do it, he'd fight back. And he was sure his was a power that would be particularly superior in a fight.

The afternoon continued in the same chaotic pattern until almost nine o'clock, which was the tentative curfew. The younger kids could still be heard bustling about the issue, but not in John's room. The subject made the older kids nervous, so they had abandoned the topic before even entering the room. All the roommates were eerily quiet, even Bobby, as they changed into their pajamas and slid into bed.

Ray sat silently at his computer, and John thought he got a glimpse of a myspace message to some babe. Go, Ray. Bobby was flipping through an ATV magazine, Peter was reading some kind of manual, and the deep bass lines coming from John's iPod could be heard by all. John was sure that if this had been a regular day, he would have had that magazine, manual, and maybe even computer thrown at him because of his loud music. But this wasn't a normal day, so everyone simply let their eyes grow heavy, and eventually turned off the lights.

When he finally stopped tossing and turning, John fell into a wrestles sleep that caused him to kick and attack his sheets as if they were a mass murdering psychopath. His dreams were plagued by several unpleasant things, one being his conscious worries. He dreamed that the general public went into mass hysteria after the attack on the president, and began attacking and murdering mutants. He dreamed that the mutant-fearing populace was killing the only people he knew, one by one. He watched as his professors disappeared, followed quickly by his friends. First Peter, then Ray, then Bobby, then Rogue.

Their screaming was clear as day, and it rang through his skull with painful precision. So piercing in fact that he was jolted awake, his bed bouncing slightly with the aftershock of his sudden jump. But when he focused on reality, really focused, he realized that the screaming hadn't stopped. It was the recognizably piercing and painful screaming of Tracy… Syrin. And she sounded terrified.

John quickly looked around the room, his eyes having already adjusted to the pitch-black atmosphere around him. He noticed that Ray and Peter had both bolted upright in bed, and were looking around, obviously trying to discern if what they were hearing was real. John looked to his right, where Bobby's bed sat empty, the sheets thrown back.

That's when Tracy's screaming was cut abruptly short, like someone had stopped her. That was the final straw. Peter threw his sheets off and darted from the room, and John rocketed to his bedside table, grasping his lighter. Ray ran from the room, and John quickly followed.

There were other students in the hallways, some running in the general direction of the professors' rooms, some were looking to the older kids in a completely confused stupor. John decided not to help them and go looking for anyone who would have some answers. He knew Syrin had excellent control, and she even knew how to avoid screaming if she'd had a nightmare. Storm had worked with her, teaching her breathing techniques that helped her to manage stress and fear. So that meant something was wrong here. Very wrong.

Once he was down the hallway, he noticed that there were flood lamps pouring in the windows, cascading a blinding white light all over the walls and floor. The fleeing kids around him paused to watch, but didn't stop. He noticed figures outside, silhouetted by the white light behind them, and they were obviously belaying from ropes hung from the ceiling outside. This could _not_ be good. Followed by several other lost and dazed students, John turned down the nearest hallway and ran, the sound of bare feet slapping on the runners and hardwood floors lost among screaming and whimpering. But among the clamor, he heard a familiar voice cry, "John!"

He skidded to a halt, the runner under his feet sliding with him. He turned to his right to see a very anxious looking Bobby.

"Where's Rogue?" Bobby called, his voice etched with worry.

John paused before answering, looking down the hall to see several students disappear around a corner.

"I dunno," he answered, nervously fingering his Zippo.

"I gotta find her!" Bobby huffed, and turned his back to round the nearest corner.

"Hey!" John called after him, slightly angered that he just left him there. After all, safety in numbers, right?

He rocketed down the short hallway to catch up with Bobby, who rounded another corner without notice. The halls were practically empty now, the students having fled or been captured by these mysterious soldiers. Bobby began calling Rogue's name, loud enough to be heard by the space station. John was just about to give him hell, considering there were people in the mansion trying to do God knows what to them who now knew where they were, when Rogue rounded a corner, her long nightgown trailing around her bare knees.

"Rogue!" Bobby cried, continuing to run toward the down the hall.

"Bobby!" she replied, and John could hear the worried adoration in her voice. It made him want to vomit. "This way," she continued, jutting a finger over her shoulder.

The three of them rounded the corner, but skidded to a halt when those same familiar flood lamps were pouring in the window on the far wall. The silhouettes of two belaying men disappeared, and for a moment the three of them thought that perhaps they had decided to leave. Fat chance.

The window exploded inward, showering the three of them with glass. Rogue screamed, and both boys yelped as they all ducked to avoid the pieces. John's nerves were on their last breaths of life, and he could actually hear the pounding of his pulse in his ears and feel it in the tips of his fingers. He was pretty sure the other two felt the same way, by the looks on their faces. But they didn't stick around to find out who was attacking. They booked it back around the corner they'd come from.

They reached the grand staircase that led to the front doors, and flew down them with speed that surprisingly didn't cause them to trip. The resulting hallway was littered with bodies, bodies of what looked like the enemy. Rogue paused momentarily to gawk.

"Come on!" Bobby chimed, and she abandoned her analysis to follow the two boys into the foyer. John almost sighed in relief when he noticed that the front doors weren't blocked.

They flew open, moaning in protest against whatever force had barged through them. The three of them skidded to a halt again, backing away from a few blinding flashlights. The white light flared, causing them to not get a good look at their attackers, but the one thing they did see was guns. Big ones. So turning to run again wasn't an option. But they continued to back away like cornered animals.

John was just about to sarcastically scream, "I love you Rogue, I always have!" when an animalistic roar breached the relative silence of the foyer. The three of them looked up to see Logan throwing himself off of the catwalk above to sink his claws into the two soldiers closest to the three kids. They fell silently, and Logan didn't miss a beat before digging his claws into the two remaining soldiers, and heaving them over his shoulder and out the front door. John gasped, his eyes getting wider as he watched Logan stand, his human traits returning to his face.

"Let's go," he growled, and nobody argued. He went for the front door, but again, the second set flew open, carrying more blinding light and wind into the foyer. Logan shielded his eyes, but didn't take much to come to the decision that this way was blocked. He whirled on them, and barreled through them to run to another hallway. "Come on, this way!" he called, and the three of them panted to keep up.

However, it was obvious that Logan had no clue where he was going, so Bobby rocketed ahead of him, leading them down a thankfully empty corridor.

"Come on, this is it," Bobby said, not needing to explain the secret pathway as he slammed his whole body against the wall, causing an opening to click, and a small trapdoor to slide backward.

John ran in first, followed by Bobby, then Rogue. John was just going to book it to the end of the secret hall, when he heard Rogue cry, "Logan!"

He stopped again, the slightly slick concrete causing him to slide. It was then that he realized Logan had pulled the door closed, locking himself inside with the intruders.

"Wait, wait! You guys, we gotta do something, they're gunna kill him!" Rogue begged, her southern accent becoming more pronounced with her anxiety.

John could not believe what he was hearing. This guy could heal from _any_ wound, and was virtually indestructible, and they were supposed to help _him?_

"He can handle himself, let's go!" John said, holding out his arms in a "are you dense?" motion.

For a second, it looked like Bobby agreed and was going to keep on running.

"Bobby!" Rogue begged, "Please!" John knew that was the final straw. Bobby always caved with the tiniest prodding. Again, he would make a _great_ husband some day.

"Alright, how do we get this open from this side?" Bobby said, approaching the door again. John sighed in frustration, but decided not to comment.

Bobby and Rogue ran their fingers around the edges to find some kind of gap, while John started nervously flicking his lighter cap. His imagination was running wild with all the things they might see if they got that door open. Best case scenario; Logan killed all the guys, and he'd just jump into the hall to help them escape. Worst case; those soldiers somehow defeated Logan, and were just waiting with loaded guns to shoot the next person out of that door. He flicked his cap faster when that image played through. Hey, at least the idiots would get shot first.

Bobby apparently found the locking mechanism, and the door slid open to reveal Logan just talking to some big dude who resembled the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, flanked by several riot-gear covered soldiers with raised guns.

Bobby immediately put his hand on the wall, and a cold went over the hallway, like the creeping of morning fog. What looked like the sped-up video of the weaving of a spider web played right between Logan and Stay-Puft. It instantly solidified into a nice, seven-inch thick wall of ice. John would have been impressed in any other instance.

Rogue leaned out into the hall to peer at Logan. "Logan, come on! Let's go," she chimed, somewhat softly.

It looked like Stay-Puft had put his hand up on the ice, and Logan reached up to touch it, just where the other man's hand was. Both John and Bobby fidgeted nervously. The more time they spent standing here, the more time those people had to get through that wall of ice.

"Logan," Bobby said, reminding Logan of the same fact.

"Go, I'll be fine," Logan growled, turning back to the ice wall.

Rogue sighed. "But _we _won't!"

Logan thought about this, and John was about to say "fuck it," and leave them all. But to John's surprise, Logan turned to them and headed into the secret hall, with a declaration of "Go! Keep Going!"

Logan slammed the trapdoor shut, and John was pretty sure he heard the explosion of a thousand tiny pieces of ice.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

John's heart pounded as the four escapees ran through the series of tunnels, which were only slightly lit and had condensation forming on every surface. It was only then that he realized how uncomfortable he really was. His feet were numb from cold, his long pants and shirt were clinging to his skin, and his throat burned from overexertion. But now was no time to complain. They weren't out of the clear yet.

Bobby led them all the way to the end of the tunnel, where a ladder stood nailed to the wall. Bobby climbed up the first few and threw open another trapdoor in the ceiling. For a moment John wondered how exactly Bobby knew where they were going, and he had absolutely no clue.

Bobby slammed his fist on a light switch, and John instantly recognized the garage. It was the one the teachers used for all of their personal vehicles. Bobby ran for the nearest one, which turned out to be Cyclops' blue Mazda RX. John went straight for the driver's door.

"I'm drivin'," he said confidently, beginning to open the door.

Logan pushed him aside as easily as if he'd been tissue paper, which caused John to stagger a little. Logan apparently realized his overuse of strength, and let go.

"Maybe next time," Logan growled, and John sighed in disappointment. He didn't have long to wallow in his frustration as the back seat door was thrown open by Bobby. John threw himself inside, with the hopes that Logan was nothing close to as safe a driver as the rest of the professors. If he was, they were doomed.

Everyone began looking around for keys or some kind of way to start the car.

"This is Cyclops' car," Bobby said, and it sounded like Bobby was warning Logan to be careful. It was pretty much common knowledge that the only thing Scott Summers cherished more than his cars was Jean Grey… and even then, it was cutting pretty close to a tie.

"Really?" Logan said, and John clearly recognized that same quality he himself held so dear; sarcasm.

Logan's center claw extended, and John grinned at how epic of a bird Logan was capable of flipping. Logan jammed the claw into the ignition, which procured a frustrated sigh from Bobby, and twisted a little.

The car immediately started, and Logan threw the car into drive, burning rubber on his way out of the not-yet-fully-open garage door. It was then that John realized Logan was _nowhere_ near as safe as the other professors.

Logan sped out the driveway so quickly that the fountain out front was just a blur, and onto the two-lane road leading away from the mansion. Everyone was silent for a second, listening to the shifting and roaring of the magnificent car. Logan cut into the other lane as he flew around a corner, immediately shifting to give it extra pickup.

"The hell was that, back there?" John gasped, still confused. He'd known those people were to be avoided, but that was pretty much the extent of his knowledge.

Logan sighed as he continued to speed. "Stryker. His name is Stryker."

"Who is he?" Rogue asked, echoing John's exact thoughts. Except she said it much nicer than he would have.

Logan ground his teeth. "I can't remember," he said.

Rogue sighed, and yanked something off her wrist. John leaned slightly forward to see her place Logan's old dog tags into his hand without touching him. Logan took them, studied them for a moment, then pocketed them. Silence ensued, in which John was pretty sure everyone was dealing with their own brand of internal conflict. The only conflict on his part, however, was how incredibly awkward and uncomfortable silence made him feel. When you grow up with a walking chatterbox, silence is a bit odd.

He leaned up between Logan and Rogue, reaching for the radio dial. "I don't like uncomfortable silences," he declared. Plus, he wanted to see what this heaven-sent gift of a car could _really_ do.

"What are you doing?" Rogue asked, leaning away from John so that her exposed arm wouldn't touch his. He silently thanked her for that as he pressed the power button.

The song that came on was something straight out of Teen Bop, and all four of them grimaced as John tried to find the channel dial amongst Scott's incredibly confusing dashboard. He pressed the 3, which he figured would direct him to a pre-saved channel, but instead the music stopped (thank God; John was starting to think curling up in a nice nude ball with Rogue would be better than that awful noise) and some kind of contraption popped from the dash just above the CD player.

"I don't think that's the CD player," he said as Logan grabbed the thin, flip-phone looking thing from it's perch.

Logan pressed something on it, and it extended with a technological bleep. "Whoa," Logan said, examining his new toy. He held it up to his ear, and when he didn't hear anything, he turned back to face John. "Sit back."

John flopped into his leather seat, noticing that adrenaline was still coursing through him, making his muscles ache and tremble a bit. He tried to relax into his seat as he said, "Where'r we goin'?"

"Storm and Jean are in Boston, we'll head that way," Logan said, putting on the gas again.

Bobby sighed a disappointed huff, and John looked at him. "My parents live in Boston."

"Good," Logan replied, and John could tell by Bobby's face that that was _not_ what he wanted to hear.

Another nice long silence followed, but John didn't have the guts to try a second time to figure out Scott's car. Logan tried many times to figure out that cell phone thing, but to no avail. So, he resorted to asking Bobby for directions to his parents' house in Boston. Bobby obliged, but to his obvious discomfort.

The drive took several hours, but they eventually stood on the Drake's front doorstep, where Bobby promptly retrieved a key to the door from under a flowerpot. John flicked his lighter nervously, eyeing the house. He hadn't been in a home like this since… well, since his own. And the memories were anything but pleasant.

Once Bobby had unlocked the door, he stepped inside, calling, "Mom! Dad! Ronnie, is anybody home?"

The three stragglers filed in behind him, Logan shutting the door behind him, and John still flicking his lighter cap.

The house was the typical American layout; a large dining room to the right, with a door on the far wall that probably led to the kitchen. To the left was a smaller sitting room, more of a nook, really. And straight ahead, there was a staircase, and farther beyond that a large living room, complete with sliding glass doors overlooking a wide patio and grassy lawn. Yup, John's stomach was churning with the disgusting memories of it.

"I'll try and find us some clothes," Bobby said, looking back at Rogue. He then turned to John. "Don't burn anything."

John briefly considered flipping him off, but Bobby had already headed upstairs, closely followed by Rogue. Logan huffed a sigh and whipped out the cell phone thing, and began fidgeting with it, wandering farther into the house and holding it out as if trying to find a signal. Again, this left John alone, boiling in his own nerves, staring at the house all around him. He wandered into the living room a bit, looking at the types of belongings the Drakes kept in their home, trying to figure them out.

On the center table was a copy of Southern Living, which he figured was Mrs. Drakes. There were also several paintings hung on the walls, followed by family pictures. John's stomach nearly jumped into his throat at the sight of them, and he fought back the urge to gag. It wasn't out of disgust for Bobby's family per se, but out of some retrieved memory of his own family home, where not a single family picture hung on the walls or sat at anyone's desk.

"Hey," Bobby said from the stairs, breaking John's concentration. "I got some of my old clothes."

John turned and walked over to Bobby, looking down at the clothes in Bobby's hands.

"Whoa, you okay?" Bobby asked, and John looked up at him. "You're pale as… ice." He laughed at the last word.

"Fine," John grumbled, taking the clothes from Bobby without consideration.

"Alright, well, I'm gunna go find something for Rogue. The bathroom's just down the hall," Bobby pointed. "And sorry if they're not exactly your style, my mother used to dress me."

Bobby had obviously made an effort to make a joke out of it, but John was too hyped on rotten memories and decaying adrenaline that he couldn't find the humor in it. Bobby decided it wasn't a subject to pry on, and he turned to go back upstairs, to John's relief. He wandered down the hall, and into the bathroom to change.

The clothes weren't terribly ill-fashioned, as he'd thought they would be. The shirt was a taupe long sleeved Beatles shirt, and the pants were Addidas track pants. Thankfully, Bobby had given him a pair of shoes, which were only slightly small, and he was thankful to have something on his bare, cold, and numb feet again.

A few minutes later, John found himself back in the living room, a nice hearty rage boiling up as he stared at the pictures again. He could hear Logan in the kitchen, but couldn't have given a smaller shit what the man was doing.

But karma proved that he needed to pay better attention as he heard a door open beyond the kitchen, and voices begin speaking. He slowly walked to the doorway between the living room and kitchen and watched as Bobby came rumbling down the stairs, and was immediately berated with questions.

"Uh, this is professor Logan," Bobby said, and turned to Logan with a desperate "please play along" look. Logan merely raised an eyebrow, and Bobby turned back to the three people that John figured were Bobby's parents.

"There's something I need to tell you," Bobby said, and the pure anxiety could be heard clearly in his voice.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Several minutes later, and several assurances that Logan wasn't an axe murderer later, the group of them all ventured into the living room. Bobby sat on the couch, the stiff set of his jaw and rigid spine completely giving away his worry. Rogue sat next to him, probably in an effort to be supportive. Mrs. Drake sat on the smaller couch with Ronnie, and Mr. Drake sat on the hearth of the fireplace, probably in an effort to look diplomatic. It didn't really work. John's nerves skyrocketed when the family all sat down, bringing back more sickening images, so he perched his butt on a side table, and resorted to flicking his lighter cap again while Logan paced in the doorway.

Mrs. Drake took a deep breath, trying to stomach the news, and turned to face Bobby. "So, when did you first know you were a… a…" she stumbled over the word, and John felt sickened by the fact. She was acting like they were some kind of venereal disease. So, he decided to help her along.

"A mutant?" he said blatantly, forcefully tossing open the lighter cap and igniting a flame.

She looked at him like he was gum on the bottom of her shoe, and eyed the lighter. "Could you cut that out?" she said, completely condescendingly.

He narrowed his eyes, and theatrically slammed the cap closed.

"You have to understand, we thought Bobby was going to a school for the gifted," Mr. Drake said, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Bobby is gifted," Rogue said, and it was obvious Bobby appreciated the moral support. Ronnie, on the other hand, looked like he hated everything; mutants, this conversation… life.

"We know that," Mr. Drake continued. "We just didn't realize that he was…"

"We still love you Bobby," Mrs. Drake interjected, looking Bobby in the eyes.

John scoffed to himself, as if to say "no one said that, but thanks for clarifying that you were thinking it."

"It's just this mutant problem is a little…" Mrs. Drake began, but was cut off.

"What mutant problem?" Logan interrupted, echoing John's exact thought.

Mrs. Drake sighed. "Complicated," she finished, looking at Logan.

There was a pause, then Mr. Drake asked, "What exactly are you professor of, Mr. Logan?"

Logan half smirked, then said, "Art."

Ah, that ever familiar sarcastic quality. John liked this guy more and more by the second.

"Well, you should see what Bobby can do," Rogue said, in an effort to salvage the better part of this conversation.

As Mrs. Drake sipped at her tea, Bobby reached for it. His fingertip barely had time to touch the china before it began to crystallize. First, the surface solidified, then the entire thing, the sound of muted chills playing as the sight unfolded. Mrs. Drake's hand shook slightly as she overturned the teacup to let her now solid cup of tea slide into the tea tray. It slid dangerously.

"I can do a lot more than that," Bobby said, a little bit of pride returning to his voice.

Mrs. Drake's hands shook more violently and she set the cup and tray on the coffee table as if it had just contracted AIDS. John couldn't help but laugh at the fact that this woman was terrified of a cup of tea. The Drake's cat, however, was very happy to clean up the tea-cube for them.

No one had noticed that Ronnie was losing his cool until it was too late. The boy panted loudly, then launched himself off of the sofa and up the stairs.

"Ronnie!" Mrs. Drake called, but the word fell on deaf ears. She closed her eyes in disappointment, then looked at her husband. "This is all my fault," she concluded.

John couldn't help but dislike this woman by the second. Putting blame on yourself was just a way to tact some pity, maybe glean some reassurance out of her family. John, for one thing, was not about to indulge her.

"Actually, they discovered that males are the ones who carry the mutant gene and pass it on, so," he paused, looking at Mr. Drake, "It's his fault."

Mr. Drake looked utterly mortified.

Another one of those oh-so-despised silences followed, but it didn't last long. Some kind of obnoxious twittering met their ears, and everyone looked around for where it might be coming from.

"Oh," Logan said, and retrieved the cell-phone thing from his pocket and walked out onto the deck.

Bobby wrung his hands together in a clearly uncomfortable gesture.

"Bobby," Mrs. Drake began, and she seemed to have a whole new air about her. She seemed… confident? "Have you tried… _not_ being a mutant?" she said, her eyebrows raised as if it were a completely rational question.

John was silent for a second, computing if this brick with a brain had really just said that. Then, he burst into laughter. The entire group looked at him skeptically, but he ignored the lot of them.

He had just gotten control of himself when Logan walked back to the door from his location at the end of the deck. But he paused in the doorway for a split second. Then his entire demeanor changed. He flung himself inside, slammed the sliding glass door, and locked it.

When he turned back to them his face looked somewhat desperate. "We have to go. Now," he growled.

John's defense mechanisms immediately went back into hyper drive, and he straightened, clutching his lighter possessively.

"Why?" Rogue asked, but Logan cut her off with another, "Now!"

Everyone followed him to the front door, and when he reached it, his claws extended with that familiar _snikt._

As they all stepped out onto the front porch, an anxiety attack-inducing sight met their eyes. Two police cruisers were parked on the front lawn, and one more was in the street beyond the driveway. Standing in the door of each car was an officer, gun drawn, battle scowl set firmly in place.

John was startled when a voice rang out to their right.

"Drop the knives, and put your hands in the air," the officer standing on that side of the porch ordered, his gun trained on what he figured was the biggest threat; Logan. John was thinking he might be able to give the guy a run for his money in that regard.

"What's goin' on here?" Logan asked, peering to his left to see a female officer, her gun also trained on him. John's stomach acid was definitely finding new ways to make him sick today.

"Ronnie," Bobby said, looking horrified.

"I said drop the knives," the male cop ordered again.

No one moved a muscle. A slight knocking could be heard inside, but they ignored it. That proved to be a mistake. Everyone yelped as the sound of the shattering back doors filled the house and left through the front door. John saw cops filter in, saying something he didn't really catch to Bobby's parents and ushering them against a wall.

"This is just a misunderstanding," Logan said, looking back at the cops in front of him.

John could have said "no shit," but decided now wasn't the time. Because by the looks on the cops' faces, they were far past reasoning.

"Put the knives down!" the male cop ordered again, this time raising his voice. Logan looked ticked off as he looked at the guy and said, "I can't. Look."

Logan began to slowly raise his arms to show the cops that the "knives" weren't knives at all. He retracted them, the same _snikt _sound ringing through the air, and the sound of a gunshot made John's heart jump into his throat, as well as every other muscle. Logan's head snapped back, and his lifeless body fell to the porch. Rogue screamed, dropping to the deck behind Logan. John merely stared daggers into the cop that had fired. He was on his last nerve right now, and that guy had just shattered right through it.

"Alright, the rest of you," the man said, raising his gun to the three of them. "On the ground now."

Bobby, the good little lap dog, slid slowly to the ground, his worry obvious in his stance. John should have been worried that the gun was now trained solely on him. But somehow, he just knew that that bullet would be molten metal before it reached him.

"Look, kid. I said on the ground!" the cop repeated, and it was obvious in his voice that he was loosing his cool.

John panted heavily as Rogue slowly descended next to Logan, which drew his eyes to the bullet wound right in the center of Logan's forehead. He swallowed down his fear and bit his lip as his inner self-preservation kicked on.

"We don't wanna hurt you, kid," the female cop said, and he could have killed her for that. He knew, deep down, that she couldn't have given a shit. Bobby looked up at him, as if to say "John! Are you freakin' blind. There's gotta be at least five guns trained on you right now, and you're _still standing?_"

John just panted, working up the courage to do what he knew he was about to do. He licked his lips, and slowly looked back up at the male cop.

"You know all those dangerous mutants you hear about on the news?" he said, tossing open the lid to his lighter and igniting a flame.

The cop stared back, just twitching to fire his weapon again.

"I'm the worst one," John finished.

He dragged his left hand over the tiny flame, and it immediately reared up like an angered stallion. He followed through, dragging his hand backward in a circle, giving himself some momentum. The flame obediently followed, like it was the matching magnet to his palm. Once he had finished the circle, he threw it forward at the male cop.

The flame left his hand as if he'd thrown a baseball, and he told it where to go every second that it wasn't with him. It billowed out like a comet, the base staying rather small, but the tip growing in size by centimeter. The cop couldn't have been more surprised. He seemed like he was going to jump backwards and out of the way, but it was already too late.

The fireball swallowed him completely, and the sheer force of it drove him backwards, through the handrail of the porch, and onto the ground a few feet below. He didn't wait to find out if the female cop would shoot him for that. He drew his hand backward, and the flame came right back to him, as if it wanted nothing less than to become his little lap dog. But he didn't stop it at his body. He threw it at the woman, and her eyes barely had time to get big when the inferno gobbled her up too, throwing her backwards just as it had to her partner.

John's power was kicking into overdrive, and suddenly he was aware of every heat-generating object around him. The ones that burned bright red in his vision were the engines of the police cruisers, still running. The next was the orange bodies; the forms of all humans surrounding him. And his sense of heat wasn't limited to just the things he could see. His inner-flame told him that there were two cops just behind him inside the Drake home, trailed closely by the Drake parents. He sensed Ronnie above him, standing at his bedroom window. Then, he felt the flashing of a rapid heartbeat from one of the cops inside. He was getting ready to fire.

John didn't even give him the chance. He twirled in a half-pirouette, dragging the ever-submissive flame along with the motion. He tossed it inside, the comet shaped fire cloud forming again as it barreled through the Drake's living room, right into the two officers standing there. They stumbled backward, their clothes igniting as they desperately tried to pat out the flames. The couch caught too, and he almost smiled at the fact that he had just saved them from having to look at that hideously 60's style fabric. Mrs. Drake screamed, but he paid her absolutely no mind.

He turned back to attend to the next pressing threat. It presented itself in the form of the closest vehicle to him, the one on the right. Both cops standing in it's doors were gearing up to fire as well, so he took immediate action. He threw the comet right under the hood of the car, sending tiny streamers up into the engine where they would do the most damage. And damage they did. The oil and lubricants in the car ignited, crawling through the pipes as easily as liquid down a drain. All of them combusted at once.

The car leaped into the air, the metal screaming as it twisted and broke. Both cops in the doors were thrown backward by the blast, their weapons flailing wildly. It twisted in midair, landing upside down on the lawn, the windows and windshield collapsing under the pressure.

He then snaked another streamer under the hood of the car on the left, which apparently hadn't had the oil changed in a while. It rocketed into the air, taking both of it's residents with it. It spun wildly as more tiny explosions occurred inside the engine and undercarriage piping. John thought he saw it land on one of the cops, but again, a more pressing matter presented itself. There was still one more car in the street, more cops out on the lawn, and another police cruiser, siren blaring, was approaching on the road.

He torched the idling car easily, then threw a streamer right at the approaching cruiser, but this time his aim wasn't to explode the car; he wanted to play with them a little bit. He went for the metal skeleton of it, surrounding the entire vehicle and melting the rubber of the tires to the pavement. He could tell by his infrared vision that the interior of the car had just become a greenhouse by the way it turned deep crimson. He smiled as he held the flames to the exterior of the car so that the officers inside would slowly burn. He flared them up to white hot every time one of the officers would try to escape through the door. He didn't even notice Rogue taking his out-of-control outburst into her own hands… literally.

She ripped off her glove, and reached into the bottom of his track pants, just above the Vans slip-ons Bobby had given him. The effect was instantaneous.

First his control over the flames stopped, leaving them to fend for themselves on Bobby's grassy lawn. He started to be confused, but then the pain kicked in. It was as if his power had been turned back on him, and every muscle was being coated with hot wax. Then a burning attacked his throat; made it incredibly difficult to draw breath. By the time he had figured out that it was Rogue, he was too weak to fight her. His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto them on the porch, still gasping for the oxygen he so desperately needed.

His surroundings disappeared as his sight went to tunnel vision. He didn't notice Rogue using his acquired ability to extinguish his flames. He didn't notice the bullet drop from Logan's forehead with a soft _tink._ He only concentrated on the pain, praying like hell that it would end soon. And thankfully, it did… sort of.

First, the tunnel vision disappeared, and he was able to notice the now flame-free lawn being thrashed about by gusts of wind. He gripped at his chest, which still felt like it was being crushed by a one-ton anvil. He panted heavily, trying to fuel his weakened and aching lungs, but it did little good.

The downed members of Boston PD looked up, as did the group on the porch, as the giant X-Jet set down gently on the road out front, looking very out of place. The three kids stood first, John on shaky, unstable legs, followed by Logan. John gave Rogue a dirty look just for shits and giggles.

Logan cracked his neck as he looked around at the destruction, and John's confidence disappeared. He was pretty sure he could take on absolutely anybody and win… except Logan. The burly man huffed as he turned on John, giving a purely "what the hell?" look. John did his best to look innocent as he flashed half of a bashful grin. Logan didn't fall for it.

Bobby didn't wait around. He launched himself forward off the porch, followed by Rogue. John followed suit, but his legs and other muscles still shook as he used them to descend the porch steps. He noticed Logan look over at the now charbroiled cop that had shot him. He was heartened by the completely flabbergasted look on the cop's face.

He and Rogue made for the Jet, but he made sure not to look at her; he didn't even want to know what kind of things she'd gained from taking his ability. He didn't notice Bobby look back at his house, a place he was supposed to feel safe in. He didn't notice the incredibly pained look on his face as he stared up at what used to be his loving family. Now… they were just his family.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

John was the first to board the X-Jet. He went straight for a chair, since he thought he might collapse again. But he stopped dead when he saw the… giant smirf riding behind shotgun. He resembled a man, but his skin was a deep navy with strange markings etched all over it. His ears were pointed, and his piercing yellow eyes didn't do wonders to make him look less animalistic. To top it all off, his teeth came to points as he said, "Guten tag."

John recognized the language as German, but was too utterly stunned to reply. He noticed Rogue stall behind him when she got a look at the man too. It was obvious on the man's face that he was hurt by their reaction.

"Who the hell is this?" Logan growled as he buckled into the seat behind Storm. John took a seat in front of the blue guy and strapped in.

"Kurt Wagner," the smirf replied, his heavy German obvious. "But in the Munich circus I was known as the incredible Nightcrawler."

"Yeah, save it," Logan grumbled. "Storm?"

"We're outta here," Storm replied, firing up the Jet again as everyone took their seats.

The flight was completely silent, and it was obvious that everyone was lost in their own train of thought. John was busy trying to think of any ways they could have gotten out of that situation unharmed if he hadn't done what he did. No options came to mind. So in that regard, he rationalized the situation to himself, but he figured doing so for the rest of the group would be much more problematic.

Logan's movement to the front of the plane caught John's attention.

"How far are we?" Logan asked, leaning on Jean's chair.

"We're actually coming up on the mansion now," Jean replied, pointing to a GPS.

It was then that the sound of a tiny double beeping alarm went off, and a green light flashed just in front of Storm.

"I've got two signals approaching," Storm said, furrowing her brow. Everyone exchanged a nervous glance. "They're comin' in fast."

A click alerted them that they were being contacted by one of the pursuing aircraft.

The female voice rang loud and slightly fuzzy, "Unidentified aircraft, you are ordered to descend to twenty-thousand feet. Return with our escort to Hanscomm airforce base. You have ten seconds to comply."

John's heart jumped into his stomach. Was this constant anxiety ever going to cease?

"Wow, somebody's angry," Storm said, punching something on the dash in front of her.

"I wonder why," Logan said sarcastically, turning to face John.

John merely glowered for a second, then raised his eyebrows, as if to say, "yeah, wanna fight about it?"

"We are coming up along side you to escort you to Hanscomm airforce base," the technologic voice of the pursuing airplane said again. "Lower your altitude now."

Storm stared out the wide windshield, analyzing both F-16s that were boxing them.

"Repeat, lower your altitude to twenty-thousand feet. This is your last warning," the woman said, and the transmission died.

A single, solitary second had passed when the F-16s pulled back, their shadowy forms disappearing from the windows.

"They're falling back," Storm said, but the way she said it made it sound like a bad thing. Everyone watched in silence as they were left unchecked.

All the alarms started blaring their song, their telltale sound making everyone grasp their seats tightly and bite the insides of their cheeks.

"They're marking us!" Storm exhaled, her eyes going wide.

"What!" Logan gasped back, straightening to his full height

"They're gunna fire," Storm said, punching in some buttons on the dash. "Hang on!" she called, looking back to the passengers behind her and taking hold of the yoke.

Logan scrambled into his seat just in time to have his eardrums plastered to the back of it. Storm accelerated much faster than she normally would have, immediately beginning maneuvering protocol. No one even noticed that Rogue's shaky hands couldn't quite grasp her safety harness.

"I gotta shake 'em," Storm said, yanking the yoke sideways.

The Blackbird did an easy 360, flipping them all the way upside down and back right side up in under a second. John's stomach leapt into his throat and he got the incredible urge to gag. He was reminded suddenly of his first roller coaster ride back before the current term.

"Please don't do that again," he begged, his voice shaking.

"I agree," Logan said, and finally John appreciated the guy.

The GPS system alerted them that one of the F-16s was diving toward them.

"Don't we have any weapons in this heap?" Logan snarled. No answer came by way of mouth, but the sky outside immediately began to turn a sickly navy and gray, darkening the interior of the Blackbird.

John stared out the porthole-sized window to his right, and didn't like what he saw. Huge funnels were twisting their way down from the clouds; probably at least ten of them, and Storm was maneuvering her way through them. Within seconds, one of the dots on the GPS signifying the F-16s fell right off the grid.

The Blackbird rocked between the funnels, bouncing and jostling everyone around in their high-performance metal chairs. But within another few seconds, the other F-16 disappeared as well, sending a relieved sigh throughout the plane. The skies instantly lightened, the clouds disappearing as well as the funnels. The Blackbird sailed as smoothly as if there had never been any sign of clouds.

"Everyone okay back there?" Jean said, turning to face them for a moment.

"No," Logan said, and John smiled to himself. This guy was becoming more of a kindred spirit by the second. Everything was quiet for a nanosecond.

The alarms began buzzing again, but this time the GPS was going crazy with different colored lights… missiles.

"Oh my God, there's two of them," Storm said, shifting the Blackbird again to try to shake them. She increased their speed as well, hoping to outrun them since maneuvering wouldn't do any good against heat seeking missiles. It would be considered impossible to outrun them in any other airplane, but the X-Jet was a superior airplane, in every way. Sadly, her attempts did little.

John wasn't aware that Jean was trifling with the missiles, but one of them suddenly fell off the grid, skittering sideways and exploding.

"There's one more!" Storm said, a tiny bit of hope in her voice.

John's heart raced as they all waited to find out if they were doomed. The GPS panned downward as the missile drew closer, and John could hear Jean panting in front of him.

"Jean!" Storm cried, her eyes burning into the GPS, where the missile was steadily growing closer.

Jean gasped, her hands almost gripping into the metal of the yoke in front of her. "Oh, God!" she gasped, and John's heart sank.

His hands dug into the seat as the rear of the plane collapsed inward, the metal screaming along with the explosion that had forced it apart. Wind immediately crushed through the airplane, whipping about them and tossing the plane from side to side as easily as a soccer ball. The Blackbird instantaneously did a nosedive, causing the feeling of weightlessness to overtake its passengers.

Alarms and flashing "warnings" immediately occupied the dash of the airplane, and Jean and Storm did their best to pull the plane out of the nosedive. Of course, the Blackbird ignored their requests as it plummeted toward the earth.

Just as John figured things couldn't get any worse, Rogue slipped from her chair, and was sucked, screaming, from the chasm at the back of the airplane.

"Rogue!" Bobby screamed, helplessly reaching out for her, even though she was already long gone. Logan looked back as well, something unreadable on his face. John would have felt his own sense of loss if he wasn't busy staring at the rapidly approaching ground in the windshield. It was like watching a movie; the way it was crystal clear and way too real.

He hardly noticed the blue guy… what had his name been. Nightcrawler? Whoever he was, he jumped from his seat, his seatbelt flying wildly, and he just… disappeared. He left some kind of blue smoke behind that didn't seem to be affected by the winds whipping through the cabin.

Within seconds, he returned, but this time he had Rogue. The two of them collapsed onto the floor of the plane, Rogue quite surprised and shaken. John would have been astounded, again, if he weren't in this situation. He kind of figured that either way, everyone but Logan was going to die. What did it matter if Rogue did it in the plane or out of it?

But suddenly the blown-out rear of the aircraft began to mend itself, like watching a movie in rewind. All the shredded pieces of metal just bent back into place, and John was strangely reminded of Airheads… the way they moved when you held them for too long. Yeah, he was definitely loosing it. He had heard that people get flashes of their past before they die, but did they go crazy? Get visions of candy? Yeah, no.

"Jean?" Storm yelled over the noise of their descent. She was peering at the mending plane, her eyebrows furrowed.

"It's not me!" Jean cried, holding on tightly to the yoke in front of her.

Just as he was sure he was taking his final breath, John was thrown against his harness, and everyone else did the same. The plane had abruptly slowed, and come to a halt, like those Tower of Terror type rides at theme parks.

Great. He was envisioning candy and theme park rides. Was it possible to go senile in your teens?

John took a shaky breath as he looked through his tousled hair out the front of the plane, where stood a well dressed Magneto and lack-thereof Mystique. Her blue, slightly scaly skin shown brightly in the sunlight, and she stood with confidence; one hand on her hip. John had seen pictures and heard stories, but this was his first time he'd ever laid eyes on them personally. And they were definitely every inch as intimidating as they'd been described. Minus the cape; Magneto probably could have pulled off an equally scary ensemble without it.

Magneto grinned as he stared up at them, arm outstretched as he easily supported the metal plane in midair. He gave a sideways glance at Mystique, and by his lips, it looked like he said something along the lines of "When will these people ever learn how to fly?"


	12. Chapter 12

*First off, I want to apologize for taking so long to update. I went from updating this story every day to dropping my dedicated readers off a cliff. I'm very sorry. Now enjoy the shenanigans of St. John Allerdyce*

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**Chapter 12**

Magneto set them down none-too-gently on an escarpment against a cliff, where the jet was incredibly well hidden, even without it's usual stealth netting. The adults made it clear that they were going to get their own business settled, then deal with Magneto.

Speaking of which, John was so far withholding judgment on the man. He was daunting, yes, but that damn cape… John just couldn't get over it. And the helmet he was toting around? If he was going for the Trojan warrior look, he was doing a wonderful job. Possibly more of a Lief Ericsson look…

It became painfully obvious that the adults wanted their business to remain just that; theirs. So the three young adults made themselves scarce. They didn't wander far, for this forest had obviously never been plowed or even explored. Every fallen tree looked like every other fallen tree. John couldn't help but laugh to himself at exactly how easily a place like this would catch fire. Dry leaves on the ground, dead and rotting timber littering the forest floor… it was just asking to be razed. But he decided not to test his theory considering the perturbed looks he'd been getting from Logan ever since the "Drake family residence" incident.

So, after deciding that the forest was boring, the three of them decided to set up the portable tents and other supplies stashed away deep in the Blackbird. They worked somewhat silently, since John still wasn't sure if he was going to get a verbal beat down for what he'd done back at the Drake's home.

The tents were meant to be easy; they comprised of two flexible plastic bars, which crossed at the top of the tent and were then driven into the ground. Next came the air-filter, which pretty much did the rest of the job for them.

The sun had just fallen below the horizon when they finally finished, so John took the liberty of vegging out on a fold out bench and playing with his lighter cap. He wanted to keep his distance from… well, pretty much everyone. He knew a lecture was inevitable, it just wasn't clear from whom it would be. Definitely Bobby, probably Professor Xavier too. And oh boy, was John looking forward to that one.

_John,_ Xavier would say, steepeling his fingers. _Your powers are a gift. If you received a great gift from someone, you wouldn't take advantage of such generosity would you?_

Naturally, John would be thinking, _Sure. If it burned well._ But of course, like a good little lap-dog, he would just bow his head, flick his lighter cap, and say "no, sir."

It pissed him off to unfathomable lengths he way Xavier had that way of nicely repressing you. He made you hate yourself, and apologize for things you weren't sorry for doing. John sighed at an uncomfortable distaste that arose at the thought.

He was staring out into the endless trees when he heard the clicking of one of the Bunson Burner-like lighters that came with the camping kit.

How sentimental, Bobby and Rogue trying to make a fire. And of course, they'd rather go all Boy Scout than ask him. And by the sound of it, things weren't going so well. Without turning to face them, he honed his knowledge of the flame in on the igniter in between Bobby and Rogue. There was a spark. A tiny one, yes, but it was still there. It just wasn't catching on the flow of gasoline due to the wind. Simple mistake, but one that would end up taking the two of them weeks to figure out. John just ignored them and decided to let them toil.

"You know, you could help," Rogue snipped, and John knew she was talking to him. He didn't even spare her a pissy look. He just sat up straighter, taking in a breath as he reached out to that tiny spark. He spoke to it for only an instant, and it immediately reared up like two angered stallions.

He didn't know exactly how her ability worked, but he knew that sometimes she got sporadic flashes of the person's memories. He almost felt nauseous at the thought. He had never shared with anyone the events that had occurred the night his power manifested. His mind went directly to it subconsciously, and he nearly gagged at the fact that Rogue may have seen the woman falling against the granite countertop, her skull cracking just like the thunder outside. He shivered as he watched from the eyes of a young boy grabbing a little girl, her freshly washed blanket still burning as he ran from the house. There was a reason he was an ass all the time. He didn't want anyone… _ever_ to know how weak and powerless he'd been in the face of his own "gift."

He jumped when a hand went down on his shoulder. He turned his head to the side to see Bobby, kneeling next to him. _Oh boy,_ he thought. _Here it comes._

"I can't pretend like I'm not angry," Bobby began.

John tossed a look over his shoulder and noticed that Rogue was nowhere to be seen. _Ah, good. The ever-important man-talk._

"Then don't," John said, flicking his lighter cap open and closed.

"John, will you just shut up and listen for a second?" Bobby piped, in a shorter tone than usual. "I can't pretend like I'm not angry. Because I am. But I know that…" Bobby paused, staring out into the forest just like John. He was silently thankful that the over-rated phenomenon of eye contact wasn't required in man-speak.

"I know that you are the way you are for a reason. I can't act like I know what that reason is because let's face it… Peter's computer knows more about you than I do," Bobby continued.

John was hoping this wasn't about to be followed by a question. "Is there a point to where this is going?" he snapped. "If you're gunna ream me out for charring your old place, do it. If not… ask me for an apology and go help your lady with whatever pointless village-people crap she's up to."

Bobby seemed like he could have punched John, but he just swallowed, and looked down. "Actually, I was just coming over here to say that _I'm_ sorry."

John finally turned to face him, completely dumbstruck. "What?" he said.

"It's just… I know that I've been closer to Rogue lately, and it's obvious now that you need a friend too," Bobby said, still thankfully looking into the woods.

"Oh, come on Bobby," John said, lighter this time. "You think I did all of that because I felt distanced from you?"

Bobby just shrugged. "Well, when that cop told us to get down, Rogue and I did it. I just think…"

"I didn't duck down and put my tail under because I don't like being threatened without justification. Logan wasn't gunna attack anybody, and he shot him anyway. What would have happened next? What if he got trigger-happy, huh? Sure, Rogue could just high-five the Loganator and she'd be fine. But what about you? Me? What if we'd been shot next? We don't heal like him, and I'm sorry if I refuse to die without a fight," John retorted, anxiously snapping at his lighter.

"He wasn't gunna shoot anybody, John! Not if we cooperated!" Bobby said, exasperated.

"You don't know that!" John said. "Don't you see it, Bobby? They're threatened by us! They're afraid of what they don't understand!" John replied, his voice getting louder.

"They didn't know we were mutants yet, John!" Bobby said. "They just thought we were regular, _human_ criminals. You gave them every reason to _start_ hating mutants!"

"Hey guys," Rogue's southern drawl interrupted.

They both turned around to see her standing at the edge of the trees, hands on her hips. "Kurt is gunna see what they're talkin' about."

The two boys rose and silently followed her through a few lone-standing trees. John figured this discussion wasn't over, and by the look on Bobby's face, he was thinking the same thing. But if they wanted to find out exactly what Magneto wanted with them, they had to put it aside.

Rogue walked into a little clearing and stopped. From where they were standing, they could see all the adults standing around a fire, talking. They couldn't hear what they were saying, but John assumed that's what the smerf was for.

They waited for a moment, just watching. John would have killed to just be a part of the discussion. Not only was he incredibly curious about the supposed "big bad Magneto," but he also figured they _should_ be involved. They were tagging along, so why were they exempt from the negotiations? Just because they were younger didn't make them any less a part of the group.

Of course, within a few minutes, they had noticed Kurt hanging by his tail from a tree above them.

John sighed as Kurt hopped down out of the tree and began talking with Jean.

"Guy doesn't know the first thing about eavesdropping," John said, pacing angrily.

"Oh what, and you do?" Rogue asked, turning her head to look him in the eyes.

"Hell yeah. How else would I have known that Bobby wet his bed until he was twelve?"

That received a socking to the arm from Bobby, which was sure to bruise.

They waited for several annoying minutes until the smerf… _Kurt_, as Rogue was forcing John to call him, returned in a flash of stinky blue smoke.

"So?" Bobby asked sweetly.

"Zey needed to know where this Stryker's base vas," Kurt said, his eyes flashing between the three of them in a slightly animalistic manner. John had to bite his tongue to keep from saying, "zat iz sooo interezting." Funny accents were one of his biggest weaknesses.

"And?" Rogue said.

"Vell, ze big man… vat is his name?" Kurt replied, speaking now to Rogue.

"Logan," she said.

"Yes. He didn't know, so zey turned to me. I don't really remember, but ze psychic… Jean, found it in my memories," Kurt said, looking away somewhat bashfully.

Nobody asked, but they all just stood there, eyebrows raised, until Kurt realized they wanted to know where they were headed.

"Somevhere called Alkili Lake."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

John had been camping before, but not very often. While he loved the idea of campfires, sleeping on cold hard earth wasn't really his thing. So he tossed and turned and bitched and moaned until the sun came up the next morning.

They got going early, something that wasn't a problem for John since he'd been awake anyway. Jean and Storm prepped the X-Jet, while the three kids took down all the tents and stashed them in the jet.

John hated the idea of using his power to _put out_ a fire, but Rogue insisted, so he obliged; to both theirs and the one the adults had gathered around to talk. He even sang the military's death song as he did so; the one they always play on trumpets at a funeral. He laughed to himself as he carried the last of the supplies onto the jet and took a seat on the soft leather seats in the back. He didn't feel like sitting up front, since looking out of the windows just made him nauseous. He hated all planes, roller coasters… anything. They all sucked.

The rest of the group loaded up in relative silence; their droopy eyes proving that most of them were not early birds. Magneto and Mystique, however, looked just as majestic as they had yesterday. They took a seat in the back, looking stoic and a bit creepy. Bobby and Rogue, obviously not night owls, took to wandering around the Jet instead of taking a seat. John just ignored them, and just sat, flicking his lighter open and closed.

Takeoff was simple and smooth; all of Jean's renovations to the aircraft the previous night having obviously worked. No one really talked for the first hour. But Logan did open up a closet hangar in the wall of the jet, and removed one of two uniforms.

He disappeared into the small bathroom as he changed, and when he reemerged, he found Bobby and Rogue staring at the single uniform hanging in the closet.

"Why don't we get uniforms?" Rogue asked as Logan finished zipping his and pushed the door to the bathroom closed.

"Yeah, where's ours?" Bobby continued.

"They're on order," Logan huffed, and John could sense the impending doom of a sarcastic comment approaching. "Should arrive in a few years."

Ah, cynicism.

Bobby obviously didn't appreciate the insinuation. But Rogue, on the other hand, blew him off and turned to face Magneto, who was laughing lightly as Mystique whispered to him.

Rogue's face set into a scowl; one that clearly held all of her contempt for Magneto.

He obviously noticed her watching him. "We love what you've done with your hair," he said mockingly.

Her scowl turned into pure rage as she whipped off her left glove and made to walk toward him.

"Hey!" Bobby warned, grabbing her tentatively by her sleeved upper arms. However, she continued to walk forward, so he repeated his "hey," this time more firmly, and pulled her back. "Come on, let's go," he said, pulling her toward the front of the airplane.

She continued to throw a dirty look at Magneto until Bobby turned her and led her into one of the chairs in the front. Mystique began laughing as soon as Rogue was out of earshot. It was a strange sound, like the hissing of a snake.

John watched until Rogue was sitting in her seat, then turned back to his lighter. He flipped it open, ignited a flame, and stared at it for a moment before turning to face Magneto.

"So," he said. "They say you're the bad guy."

Magneto turned his head, but still didn't look John in the eyes. "Is that what they say?"

John merely nodded, then looked down at the helmet situated on the seat next to Magneto. "That's a dorky lookin' helmet."

That finally got Magneto's attention. He turned all the way to stare at John, as did Mystique.

"What's it for?" John continued, absentmindedly flicking the lighter cap.

Magneto considered for a moment, but he didn't seem to be considering if he should answer. He seemed more like he was sizing John up. Judging him.

"This 'dorky looking helmet' is the only thing that's going to protect me from the _real_ bad guys," Magneto said in his deep, commanding voice. He finished it off by holding out a hand.

John's Zippo lazily flowed right out of his hand and into Magneto's. John sat up straighter, taking in a breath of anxiety and clenching his jaw. He didn't like being without his lighter. Of course, the flame was still lit, so if he needed it, he could always just take it back.

Magneto admired the flame for a second, then said, without looking away, "What's your name?"

John stared at Magneto, then at the flame still dancing atop the lighter. "John," he replied hesitantly.

Magneto seemed perturbed at something, and looked John in the eyes with an intense stare. "What's your _real_ name, John?"

At first, John thought the man was dense, then realized what he was asking. He wanted the name of his soul, not his body.

John reached his hand out like a mother beckoning to a child, and the flame hopped happily right into his hand. He upturned it, so the tiny fire could situate like a miniature campfire. He stared longingly at it before answering, "Pyro."

"Quite a talent you have there, Pyro," Magneto said.

John could argue otherwise. He scoffed. "I can only manipulate the fire," he said, looking down at it one last time before closing his hand and extinguishing it. He looked back up at Magneto. "Can't create it."

Magneto continued to stare at the place where the fire had resided in John's palm, before looking him dead in the eyes and saying, "You are a god among insects." He paused to let his words sink in. "Never let anyone tell you different."

John was awestruck. No one…_ no one_ hade ever said such things to him. He knew inside that he was powerful. That _he_ was in control of a powerful force of nature. But no one had ever told him that. He'd always been told that he could be dangerous, and that he needed to control it.

But Gods… they _were_ dangerous. Dangerous, but their believers still worshipped them. Worshipped them out of love, fear… everything people _should_ have felt when watching him utilize his power.

Magneto snapped the lid of the lighter closed, which drew John's attention to his beloved Zippo. Magneto gently held it out to John this time, instead of using his power to return it. John took it slowly, still staring at Magneto in wonderment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The ground at Alkili was covered in snow, and the soil was frozen stiff. It made landing the Blackbird a bit rougher than usual, but Storm pulled it off beautifully.

First, they created a layout of the land and dam. Storm set up the jet's mapping system, and its internal computer did the rest of the work. Within seconds, there was a layered map appearing above a transmitter that sat on the ground of the Blackbird. John had always been fascinated by the Blackbird's mapping technology. Using laser-like beams of light situated opposite each other, the system set up a three-dimensional map that appeared completely corporeal, but in reality was just the beams of light colliding. Storm studied if for several minutes before calling everyone over to discuss a point of entry.

John had been caught up to speed during the second half of the flight. First of all, Stryker was holding several of the Xavier kids hostage, as well as Cyclops and the Professor himself. Second, he had a makeshift Cerebro which, to Storm and Jean's assumptions, was to be used to eliminate all mutants on the planet. Third, Logan wanted some answers about his past, and this Stryker guy was sure to have some.

"Alright," Storm began, standing by a board of controls just to the right of the map. "This is a topographic map of the dam. This is the spillway."

Storm pressed a button on the controls, and the map immediately changed.

"See these density changes in the terrain?" she said, pointing to a point on the map. "They're tire tracks."

"That's the entrance?" Logan asked, a little too enthusiastically, and Storm nodded.

John could just see it now: Logan clawing his way in there and absolutely massacring everyone. It would be a show well worth popcorn and a cheap date.

"And this shows," Storm began again, pressing a button to bring up a different map. "The depth of the ice that's covering the ground."

John stared at the map, pulling his hands up over his chair and sighing in boredom. Kurt was sitting to his left, looking fascinated in the map.

"And this is recent water activity," Storm said, and a blue ridged line appeared several inches from the line signifying the ice. In reality, that was probably at least twenty feet, if not more.

"If we go in there, Stryker could flood the spillway," Jean said from her copilot seat.

Storm thought for a moment. "Can you teleport inside?" she asked Kurt.

"No," Kurt replied, nodding. "I have to be able to see vhere I'm going. Othervise I could end up inside a wall."

"I'll go," Logan said, as if it was a brilliant epiphany. "I have a hunch he'll want me alive."

"Wolverine," Magneto commanded, and everyone's attention was drawn to him. He began walking forward, through the map, which severed the colliding light beams, making them appear to move out of his way. "Whoever goes in there needs to be able to operate the spillway mechanism. What do you intend to do?" he said, approaching Logan. "Scratch it with your claws?"

Logan stepped forward threateningly and adopted a sneer. "I'll take my chances."

Magneto cocked his head like a curious puppy. "But I won't," he said, and turned majestically to peer at a sweetly, yet not innocently smiling Mystique.

John watched as Mystique's skin began crawling slightly, and she flawlessly took the form of Logan, dog tags and all.

Jean spun her seat around, punched a button on the hatch, and the ramp began lowering. Mystique turned to face them at the end, and smiled at all of them. "Wish me luck," she said in Wolverine's deep drawl, and Logan obviously didn't appreciate it.

Storm made a few adjustments to the map so that it would pick up the heat signatures of human beings. They watched as Mystique made her way into the spillway, walking slowly and examining everything.

"We can pick up her heat signature until she goes inside," Storm said, programming the map. "But once those doors close, we'll lose everything. The metal's too thick for our sensors. We'll just have to trust that she gets in."

Everyone watched as she approached the end of the tunnel, and several more figures escorted her through the door, where all map renditions promptly disappeared.

"Now we wait," Storm said, turning off the map and taking a seat in her pilot's chair. Logan began pacing the length of the aircraft, while John did what he did best in times of tension; flicked his lighter cap.

They waited for about two minutes, when Mystique's electronic-sounding voice came on over their comm. system and said "I'm in."

Logan, who was on the front end of a pace, turned and faced the comm. system. "She's good," he said.

"You have no idea," Magneto said, approaching behind Logan.

"Let's move," Jean said, standing and walking down the ramp. Bobby, Rogue and John stood to follow.

"You three stay here," Storm said, and all of their shoulders shrank.

"Come on, Storm, we can help. We can…" Bobby began to reason.

"No," she replied forcefully. "It's too dangerous, and we might need a quick escape plan. You remember that crash course on the jet that I gave you guys last summer?"

"Yeah, I guess," Bobby replied, obviously disappointed.

"Good. If you see us coming, start it up. And don't do anything stupid," she said, turning to face John.

"Why you lookin' at me?" he asked sarcastically, and she rolled her eyes as she followed the rest of them down the ramp.

"Close this and don't open it until we come back!" she called, motioning to the ramp.

Bobby sighed, and a little too forcefully slammed a fist onto the button that controlled the ramp.

"Of course," John groaned, perching his butt against a seat. "_Guard the car._"


	15. Chapter 15

I've said it once in my Veidt story, but I'll say it again: I put a lot of typically avoided topics in my stories. In this case, there is a fairly long religious reference. If it bothers you, I'm sorry. Feel free to skip the chapter if that's the case for you.

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**Chapter 15**

John hated knowing that he could help and was instead stuck in the damn jet cooling his heels. He could do immense damage to any metal, considering metal melted easily. That entire dam was _made _of metal. But was he? No. He was bored past tears, staring at a wall.

"I don't see why we always get left behind," he complained to Bobby and Rogue as he flicked the lighter.

"They're just trying to keep us safe," Bobby said, but John could tell that he, too, was disappointed.

"No, keeping us safe is putting a helmet and knee pads on us before pushing our two-wheelers down a hill. Keeping us safe is giving us the mansion, where no human can harm us. _This_ is repressing us," John said.

"Well maybe if _somebody_ hadn't deep-fried a couple cops and a very well manicured lawn, they might be more inclined to bring us along," Bobby replied curtly.

"Oh yeah. Blame it on John," John said, looking down at the flame he had ignited. He couldn't get what Magneto had said out of his head. He couldn't help but think that if positions were reversed, and he was allied with Magneto, he'd be in there kickin' ass and takin' names just like everybody else. Because Magneto believed in him; in his ability and his control over that ability.

A god, he had said. Gods didn't sit around waiting for someone else to solve their problems for them. Gods unleashed their own fury, whenever they wanted to. Whenever they deemed necessary.

They all sat in silence, all the while John contemplating his usefulness. He toiled in his own anger for almost fifteen minutes before slamming his lighter cap closed and declaring, "That's it."

Bobby and Rogue stared at him in surprise as he stood and slammed the ramp button on the dash. He turned back around and grabbed a jacket from the shelves next to the pullout closets, and began walking toward the ramp.

"Whoa, where d'you think you're going?" Bobby snapped, both him and Rogue rocketing to their feet and following him.

"I'm sick of this 'kids table' shit," he said as he threw the jacket on. "I'm goin' in there."

"John, they told us to stay here," Rogue argued.

John whipped around as he straightened the jacket. He thought back to the day when the three of them, along with Kitty Pryde, had gone against the grain, stolen alcohol, and had a party in their dorm room. "You always do as you're told?" he asked skeptically. After all, her code name _was_ Rogue.

Neither of them had an answer. They just stared back at him, useless and dumbstruck. So John tossed them his best crooked smile, and hopped down the ramp and off toward the dam.

He was halfway to the dam when he noticed something strange. His vision flickered into infrared, then flickered back to normal. He paused for a moment, considering why that would happen. But he didn't have time to wonder long.

It hit him like an iron bar to the temple. It was a small wave of pain at first, so he merely gasped and staggered a bit. Then came the real thing.

John knew, by the discussions Jean, Storm, and Logan had had in the last few days, that Xavier could do this. But he had no idea it would be that unbearably painful.

It was like his head had just been secured in a vice, and it was now drilling into his skull through every direction. He tried to scream as he fell to the ground gripping his temples, but the pain was so bad that he couldn't even do that.

Was this it? Was this how it would all end? John didn't know if there was any way to stop Xavier once he was connected to this many minds, so death was a viable option. John began to wonder, as he writhed in the snow, what it would be like. Would there just be darkness? Just a black, blank void in which there was just… nothing. No sound, no sights, no senses. Or was there really a God?

If there was, John knew exactly what he would say to him. He'd been planning it since he was fourteen years old. He'd walk up to those pearly gates, sneering and playing with his lighter, just to prove the existence of extraordinary irony. He'd see Him standing there, shining in all his golden glory and white billowing robes. And he would approach him.

"Where were you?" John would murmur. The great deity would just stare back. "Where were you when I killed my sister? Where were you when my father beat my mother to death?" he would ask. Flicking open the lighter, he would ignite a flame. "WHERE WERE YOU!" he would scream.

"I know you are angry, my son," the man would answer. "I bestow the most difficult of trials upon those that I cherish the most."

"Bullshit!" he would scream back. He used to think that he wouldn't have the gall to scream and curse at the lord, but when he pictured Claire's tiny little face, burned and crying, he found the will. "She was perfect! She was innocent and perfect, and didn't deserve what she got! Why! Why did I have to do that to her? Why did _you_ make me do that to her?"

The man would remain calm, his face set in the most serene picture. "It was time for her to join me, here in paradise. Like you say, she was perfect. Perfect enough to join the ranks of angels. Just like your mother. And I trusted that you were strong enough to deliver her into my loving embrace. I trusted that you would mourn her, but become strong through the process. That you would become the man I planned for you to become, as my son."

"But it's not fair!" he would scream back. "My mother was going to leave that sick wretch of a man. She was going to find a better life for Claire and me! She could have been happy, _Claire_ could have been happy! She never got to feel the joy of love. Of passion. She never got the experiences that I have had, but even those, too, are tarnished by the fact that _she wasn't there with me!_ I hate you! I hate you for what you made me do! It's _your_ fault!"

"Please don't be angry with me, my son," the man would say sweetly, reaching out a hand and his white robes billowing out around his arm as if they were a waterfall falling around him. "I gave you this gift because I trusted you to overcome its trials and tribulations."

"Fuck your gift!" he would scream. By this time, he'd probably already be crying, despite his efforts not to. "You can take it back. Take it all back, if it means one more day with them! I needed them, damn you! The only people that ever loved me, and _you_ made them leave me. I hate you!" he would scream, and reel back to hit him.

Just like it had started, it stopped. The pain, the doubt, everything. John knew it was over. That he was dead, and when he opened his eyes, he would truly find out if he would get to use his argument.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw only Alkili Lake.


	16. Chapter 16: Fin

**Chapter 16- Finale**

John sat up, slightly dumbstruck and feeling of the ground around him to make sure it was real. Was heaven located in Alkili Lake? Maybe hell…

No, he decided. He was alive. Someone must have gotten to Cerebro in time. But the question remained; what now? Should he go into the dam and finish off what was left of Stryker's men? He knew Xavier wouldn't approve, but John wanted revenge, of sorts. These men had broken into the mansion, shattered what home he had, and led to the deterioration of the only friendships he had.

Magneto would approve. He knew these people, knew what they were capable of. Knew that, if given the opportunity, they should be eliminated.

John began to think about where his mind had taken him in the midst of Xavier's mental attack. What if he had died? What if his life had just ended? Would he have been content with his life? Would he be able to say that he did all that he wanted to? Lived like he wanted to? Enjoyed it?

The answer was no. He had been repressed since he was fourteen, not just by others, but by himself. He lived in fear. He _needed_ to be in control. He knew it all stemmed from the night his ability manifested. He couldn't control his father, couldn't stop him from hitting his mother. He couldn't control what was happening to him; the flames and the abuse. He couldn't control his sister's fate as she slowly slipped away below the foundation of Xavier's mansion, due wholly to his "gift."

But had he ever even gained control? Again, the answer was no. Yes, he had controlled his power. But he needed control of everything else; his life, his circumstances. He needed true _freedom_. Flames can't be held in a cage, their wielder shouldn't either.

John aimlessly wandered as he thought about options. What would he do now? Just go back with Xavier to his helplessly corrupted life? It felt like so much had changed about his perspectives since he met Magneto. The mere thought of going back to his cage at Xavier's actually sickened him. His friends were shallow friends, his life was a shallow existence. He wasn't happy, and would never _be_ happy until the day he left.

That was it. The answer. Leave. What did he have left to go back to? An education? He hated it anyway. He knew he was smarter than them, knew that he would always ace the tests and fly through his time there as if watching someone else do it. Shallow.

John's reverie was broken by voices and the sound of doors closing. He looked around to find himself standing just inside the tree line, and beyond it was a helicopter with accelerating blades. John stepped forward to see Magneto in the pilot's seat, and Mystique in the co-pilot's.

He could torch them right here so easily. His optional infrared vision would allow him to find where the oil ran hottest through the engine, and he could blast it within seconds, solving most of the X-Men's problems.

But what good would it serve him? Xavier would probably even be mad at him for killing, instead of proud for exterminating a major threat. He probably wouldn't even be praised once.

Now Magneto, on the other hand, appreciated his gift; admired it. The way he had spoken to John was like someone speaks to their god. With him, his gift would be appreciated, and even utilized in all the ways John had wanted to utilize it. He would be working with a modern Malcom X. Revolutionary, but radical. He wouldn't be pushing silent protests for mutant freedom, but fighting for it. His _own_ freedom.

Things would never be the same if he did this. He would lose everything he knew. His home. Bobby. Rogue… But what did he care about her, anyway? Contrary to her name, she was anything but a rebel. She had chosen _Bobby_, of all people, and the two of them were made for Xavier's. They were the perfect little lapdogs, following orders and obeying rules. No, John Allerdyce wouldn't turn out like them.

So he stood, watching as Mystique realized that he was standing there. It was obvious that Mystique was confused at first, but not Magneto. He knew. He knew why John was here, and it wasn't to be a hero.

The door slid open slowly, and John found his way down the hill, and approached. Already, Magneto was standing there, smiling slightly as his gray cape and coat jostled in the downdraft of the spinning helicopter blades. He didn't say a single word. He just held out his elegantly gloved hand, and helped John aboard.

He still didn't speak, but merely clapped a hand on John's shoulder welcomingly, and headed back to his chair. Magneto turned to face Mystique, and it was obvious that they shared a moment of silent communication.

Mystique slowly turned her head, her yellow eyes somehow very friendly. She smiled a very real smile at John and said, "Welcome to the Brotherhood."

John just smiled as she turned back and began prepping the helicopter for takeoff. John turned back to an open window in the door of the helicopter and looked out.

As the helicopter began to slowly ascend, John had no regrets. The smiles he'd received from Magneto and Mystique made him realize; he'd made the right choice.

He didn't have any worries. Not about himself, not about the X-Men. He knew they'd get out of here just fine. They had their precious Blackbird, after all. It was then that John unleashed a nasty grin as he thought to himself. They would be safe… assuming Bobby or Rogue got up the balls to fly that sucker to their rescue. But that would imply that they would have to break the rules, go against the grain. Fact is, John didn't think they had it in them. And that thought didn't bother John at all.

That thought didn't bother _Pyro_ at all.

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Well, that's it for this story folks, but don't forget me just yet. I've been working on another one while I was working on this one, and I'm posting it immediately. Stay tuned. Go Pyro!


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